


Just Dany

by Russell_Craig



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 155,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russell_Craig/pseuds/Russell_Craig
Summary: Daenerys had accomplished her goal and taken her place on the throne, so why did she have the unshakable desire to be anyone else? Frustrated with the daily realities of ruling she sneaks away from the Red Keep without telling anyone. With only a few coins, her stallion and the clothes on her back she rides for hours in no particular direction until she comes upon a tavern unlike any in the Capitol. There, she meets a woman who has no idea she's a Queen and gets to experience for a few hours how the other half lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I was writing more of Man’s World and got sidetracked thinking about the different reasons Daenerys might want to hide her identity from Arya. Here’s one I came up with.

What was it about her that made her crave what was undeniably almost impossible to achieve? Whether it was the Iron Throne when she was an ocean away in Essos, without a Khal to lead her army, or now that she had all that, her sudden wish to be anyone, anything but the ruler of seven unruly kingdoms. 

If someone asked her why she did it, she wouldn’t know how to answer them. Leaving the castle without protection was both reckless and foolish. What was worse was that she knew better. She had many enemies now that she ruled the Seven Kingdoms, she’d seen firsthand how real the threats were, but that wasn’t enough to keep her in the Red Keep a moment longer. After a long day of trying to solve problems and settle grievances that existed long before her, she was exhausted. The weight of her choice to return to Westeros and claim the Iron Throne was heavy on her shoulders. Just for a few hours, she wanted to go somewhere where she wasn’t a Queen, some place where she could blend in and just be another woman in the crowd. Maybe then she’d find it easier to breathe. 

The stablemaster was visibly caught off guard to find her alone but didn’t object to readying her horse for her. She thanked him with a sincere smile, her first of the day, and rode off. Without a particular destination in mind, she guided her horse out of King’s Landing and then let him lead. It didn’t matter where they went as long as no one called her, ‘Your Grace’ when she got there.

The farther she travelled the better she felt. The hours on horseback reminded her of a time long before she crossed the sea. At the head of a khalasar things seemed simpler somehow. She doubted they were, but it felt that way to her now. For a few minutes she tried to count the stars in the sky before she gave it up as a fool’s errand. The air was cool, crisp and clean, very different from how it was inside the Red Keep’s throne room. She inhaled deeply and savored the chill that seeped into her bones. 

Her conscience gnawed on her as she let hours pass with nothing but her own breathing and the sound of the horse’s steps in her ears. She tried not to think about everyone who would be furious with her when she returned. Jorah would be upset that she left without him to watch over her, Tyrion would be mad she told no one where she was going and Missandei would want to know why the Queen hadn’t shared her secret plan to escape. She pushed it all to the back of her mind, but that area was getting crowded. Life at peace was more complex than any day at war and it had her longing for when her problems could be solved by asking Drogon to burn anything in her path.

When her horse began to slow she knew she’d need to stop soon and let him rest. She petted him gently on his neck to reassure him she’d tend to him at the first available opportunity. She looked around and tried to assess her location. She didn’t have a clue. Since leaving the gates of King’s Landing she’d been actively trying not to see which way they were going. As if knowing where she was would detract from what she was trying to accomplish. It was nearly a half hour later, she’d guess, down that same worn road that she saw billows of steam rising from a chimney. 

When she laid her eyes on the two-story building for the first time, she knew she’d found the right place. The hitching post outside was lined with horses, only a pair of spots remained unused. Moving closer she heard the loud commotion from within even before she reached the door. Music came out through the windows nearest her, but whatever song was being played was easily overshadowed by curses and laughter. This was perfect. This was the last place anyone would expect to see Daenerys Targaryen. 

Her legs were slightly unsteady as she climbed out of the saddle. She was glad the Dothraki hadn’t been there to witness it. She tied up her horse and leaned back to try and stretch her sore muscles. The pain made her question how long she’d been riding. Even out of practice it shouldn’t have been quite so painful. It had been just after sunset when she’d snuck away and now it was late into the night, with a full moon over her head. 

A fresh wave of laughter from inside the tavern reminded her of why she’d come. She raised the hood on her cloak before she stepped inside, just to be safe. 

Typically, when she drank it was inside the castle, with Tyrion, Missandei, or Jorah. She rarely took part in the drinking games the Dothraki preferred and was never invited to the gatherings the servants had at the end of long days tending to others. She’d been in taverns before, in Essos and Westeros, but never alone and never one like this. 

She looked around quickly, her eyes struggling with what to stop and watch. There were colors, sounds and smells coming from all directions, be it the women’s dresses, the thick scent of mead in the air, or the drunken laughter of a group of battle-weary soldiers. A man played the lute in the corner of the room but from what Daenerys could see he was largely ignored by most of the guests. Tables were arranged in a horseshoe shape around the middle of the room, but oddly enough only on one side. She noted most of them were full. Serving girls brought drinks and a short, middle aged woman stood in the doorway to the kitchen with her hands on her hips, overseeing everything. 

Suddenly the volume in the room rose without warning. Cheers and cursed mixed together and Daenerys couldn’t help but wonder why. She tried to trace the source but couldn’t see much, just a thick cluster of people all facing the same way. They were on the opposite side of the tables, as if they’d purposefully been stationed there so not to block the view of those sitting. She approached cautiously, unsure of what was happening. When the yelling quieted she heard a rattling sound she couldn’t make sense of. She carefully began to wind herself through the sea of people, working her way to the front. Being small, she’d need to be in the earliest row to observe anything of value. 

Another wave of crude comments passed through the group before she was in a position to learn why. Once she had a suitable vantage point, she had to admit it wasn’t particularly illuminating. In the center of the room, under the watchful eye of the crowd a lone figure sat perfectly still, unbothered by the nearby upheaval. Several feet away was a clay pot with the lid attached. There was a sudden stomping on the floor and a fresh round of yelling began. Behind her and beside her on both sides, bets were placed, coins passed, and bargains reached. She couldn’t say what they were betting on exactly, but she did understand that the stomping must signify something meaningful. She looked past the sitting figure to the tables and noticed many of them placing wagers with the pretty serving girls Daenerys assumed only brought them their drink. 

In hopes of learning what was happening she studied the person everyone else was so captivated with. It was a woman Daenerys decided after some internal debate. Although she wore no dress, there was a slight shape visible under her shirt. Her hair was nearly at her shoulders, dark as a raven and tied back with a simple band as one might a horse’s tail. Her feet were bare, and the fabric of her pants was riding up nearly halfway to her knees. She sat with her legs folded under her, and her hands resting on her knees. The stomping happened again, this time two distinct stomps instead of one. The crowd grew rowdy and all eyes looked to the woman in the center. It was then for the first time that Daenerys picked up on the slight lift in the corner of her mouth. She was otherwise expressionless, so it was difficult to be certain, but she got the impression that this woman, whoever she was, was enjoying herself. 

Suddenly a man came from the side of the room that held the tables and approached the center. She wondered what he intended to do but couldn’t bring herself to ask anyone. He ignored the woman completely and picked up the clay pot. Holding it in both hands he raised it over his head and began shaking it. She heard a rattling sound coming from inside. She recognized it as the same noise she didn’t comprehend earlier.

Once it was sufficiently shaken he set the pot upside down in front of the sitting woman. The crowd around her was leaning forward in anticipation and Daenerys knew that whatever was going to happen, would be happening soon. He lifted the bottom of the pot away from the top, spilling the contents out in front of the calm woman. 

She gasped when she saw it, a collection of snakes, many the same colors as her dragons. She tried to count them, but it was difficult with them all wound together as they were. She guessed there were at least six, possibly more. In addition, there were a handful of wooden carvings that were scattered amongst the snakes. 

For a long second neither the snakes nor the women moved. Then seemingly at once, they both did. The snakes spread out and the woman, opened her eyes to study them. When the woman finally moved her hands off her knees the shouts were so loud Daenerys feared for the long-term health of her ears. A particular vulgar slur had her looking over her shoulder to see who said it, but that only lasted until a hiss and a snap forced her attention back to the sport. A snake had lashed out and tried to bite the woman, who remained seated and perfectly at peace. By the time Daenerys could make sense of it, she was pulling her hand back, holding one of the carved figures. She placed it on the nail of her thumb and flipped it up into the air, only to catch it easily, causing more adoration from those watching. 

Daenerys was as transfixed as any of the others. Too quickly for her eyes to follow or her brain to understand there was a flurry of movement. Snake and woman alike both blurred as they raced. Without warning the woman had reached for another figure and a pair of snakes meant to oppose her. Daenerys gasped again, holding her breath as she waited to see if the woman was injured. “They’re betting on how many tokens she’ll recover,” she said to herself when she understood. 

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until she heard the man next to her respond. “She’ll get them all. I’ve never seen one with such quick hands.”

The loud room seemed to unsettle the snakes even more than they already were, and they began fighting themselves as much as the woman. The third token was taken with barely any resistance but the fourth was different. Even before her hand went to get it, a snake was eyeing the same prize. Sensing he was being threatened he turned his tan head and lunged. When the battle was over she couldn’t help but agree with the man on her right. She really was fast. 

She saved the hardest for last and Daenerys guessed it was partially because she wanted the exact reaction she was getting now. The entire room was screaming for her to win or lose, depending on the wager they’d made. The last figure was trapped in the center of three very large snakes. As if they understood their role, they were each facing a different way, blocking any potential road of approach. 

“She’ll get bit this time for sure,” someone said at Daenerys’s back. 

“She better, or my wife’ll kill me for losing the day’s wage,” another added. 

If the smirk she wore was any indication the sitting woman heard what Daenerys had. She let out a shrill whistle to get the snake’s attention and when she had it, she gave the audience their money’s worth. It was over quick, but it felt much longer to Daenerys.

As her arm came back in, she didn’t appear to show any signs of being bitten but Daenerys couldn’t imagine she’d evaded all those eager snakes successfully. She flipped the last token as she had the first and caught it just as casually. The crowd applauded and cursed in equal measure. 

“Show us!” a man several feet from Daenerys demanded. 

For the first time the woman stood. She turned her back on the snakes without hesitation and pushed up the sleeve of her shirt. The flesh was littered with scars of various sizes, but Daenerys saw nothing fresh, no obvious bite marks at all. She couldn’t help but ask how such a thing was possible. 

The same man who shook the pot, returned and examined her outstretched arm on behalf of the gamblers. “She’s clean!” he shouted, after running his thick hand over her skin to be sure. 

Once the declaration was done he went to work gathering up the snakes in the same clay pot they’d been in when Daenerys arrived. The woman walked toward the tables, to the less crowded side of the room, ignoring calls for her attention the entire way. Purses of coins moved back and forth as the bets were settled. Daenerys had trouble believing what she’d seen. If she hadn’t needed a drink before, she did now. 

On her way to the counter she pushed her hood off, finally satisfied that she wouldn’t be recognized. This was hardly the type of place people who associated with royalty would frequent. The thought cheered her more than it should have. She’d worked hard to become Queen and suffered no shortage of hardship. She waged wars, she’d sent men to their deaths and on her command, dragons burned thousands. It had seemed worthwhile then, but now, she couldn’t help but second guess her decisions. Would she have been better off in Essos? 

“What’ll it be?” a man asked, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“Wine,” she answered, after a slight delay. 

“Fancy choice, I’ll have to go dig some up from the back,” he said without any serious malice. 

Daenerys almost let him go, before she chose otherwise. She’d come here to get away from being Queen, so she could experience life as a common woman. “Wait!” she said too loudly. When he turned back she explained herself. “What do most people drink here?”

The man was clearly amused but did what he could to hide it. She might have missed the signs if she hadn’t been trained by Tyrion to spot every unspoken gesture. He thought it made her a better leader if she understood the true motives of those who came before her, but apparently it had other uses too. He’d be so proud to see her now. “The rum is good, and the mead always sells.”

She’d tasted mead before and wasn’t particularly fond of it. She didn’t know if she was brave enough to try the rum however. She knew that rum was the favored drink of the sell-swords Daario led, as well as many of the Dothraki. “I’ll try the rum,” she said before she could change her mind. 

This, he didn’t need to go and find. He pulled a bottle from the shelf behind him and poured it into a mostly clean glass. He smiled, and she produced coins to pay him. The exchange made she was turning away, rum in hand when a new voice said, “Let me buy that for ya darlin’.”

Daenerys sized up her potential companion. He was handsome enough, about her age, and had a light dusting of hair on his chin, as if he’d forgotten to shave that morning. Unlike her he appeared to be drunk and that alone turned her off. She had no desire to bed a drunken man before she’d had her first sip. “No, thank you,” she said as diplomatically as she could. “I’m fine.” 

“Come on,” he pleaded. “I won some gold on the game, I’d be happy to pay for it.” 

He thought she was a whore? Offended and more than a little angry she glared at him. How dare he!? “Not every woman you see can be purchased!” she told him hotly. “You’d be wise to remember that.”

Agitated, she didn’t want to waste another moment on this man and marched away. With the competition over for the night, many of the guests were already taking their leave. Others had begun to group together to talk and drink. Daenerys made her way toward the tables, hoping to find a spot to rest her legs. When she spied it, she couldn’t believe her luck, the only empty table in the whole room. She took a seat quickly before anyone else could claim it. Since she was sitting right next to a brazier she was warm enough to take her cloak off entirely, revealing the silver silk dress underneath. She lifted the glass to her lips carefully, unsure of what to expect. She took a tentative sip and winced a little as the liquid scorched its way down her throat. 

“Does it burn?” a smooth voice asked from the other side of the table. 

She set her drink down and raised her eyes to find the woman from the game. She looked unchanged after her encounter with the snakes, except for the fact that she had put on a pair of leather boots. Only when the woman eyed her expectantly did Daenerys remember that she owed her a response. She thought about lying but didn’t see the point. She’d never return here again, so she was free to be honest, about her drink at least. “It does a bit. Rum isn’t what I usually drink.”

“That’s how you know it’s working. Drink more,” she advised wisely, “it’ll burn less.”

Daenerys was sure her distaste for that logic showed on her face, because the woman tilted her chin toward the glass, urging her to test the theory. She couldn’t believe she was taking drinking instruction from a woman who played with snakes, but she was. She picked up the glass again. She tried to deny it but couldn’t in good conscience. It really didn’t burn quite as bad as it had the first time. Again, her face must have given her away because the woman’s smile wasn’t slight anymore and she looked rather smug. “See, I told you so.” 

She assessed the woman as she set her glass in front of her. Up close she was taller than Daenerys expected, having more length in her strong legs than the Queen predicted. She had both sleeves of her blue shirt up past her elbows, exposing a matching pair of sword-scarred arms. Daenerys took time to confirm for herself that she hadn’t in fact been bitten during the competition earlier and came to the same conclusion as the judge had. She’d avoided the angry snakes somehow. She was attractive in her unique way, with sharp, well-defined features and a long face. What was most noticeable about her was the stormy pair of grey eyes she had. The snake-woman rarely blinked and unlike Daenerys seemed to easily be able to take in everything around her. She had a drink in her left hand, which Daenerys noted she hadn’t tried. “Am I drinking alone?” Daenerys asked suggestively. To emphasize her point she raised her rum to her lips for a third and final drink, emptying the last of the dark liquid. In doing so, she proved the woman right. It burned far less now. 

“I don’t know you,” she countered. 

“I’m Dany,” she said, knowing using her true name would give her away. Feeling bold, she stood and pulled out the empty chair on her right. “Sit, and I’ll get us more to drink.”

The stranger seemed amused by her, once again smirking in that barely noticeable way of hers. “You don’t know me,” she contended. 

Daenerys was unbothered by the resistance. All things worth having, she’d learned, took effort. The same could be said for lovers. “Who are you, then?”

The woman appeared to be holding back a laugh. “You don’t know?” she verified. 

“I’ve never been here before,” Daenerys confessed. “So, will you tell me your name?”

“Arya,” she said simply. 

She smiled at the concession she’d been granted. “Very well, take a seat Arya and I’ll get us more rum.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I’ve only had one drink,” she informed her new friend. “I can handle it.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” 

“What did you mean?”

Rather than answer Arya emptied the contents of her glass in a single long drink. She’d obviously had more experience with rum than Daenerys did. “I’ll go get us our drinks,” Arya said, picking up the empty glass and carrying it away. 

Daenerys watched her go, so graceful and confident. The crowd actually parted to make room for her and Arya passed through easily. She counted no fewer than three different men and one woman who approached the brunette as she made her way to the counter, and although she spoke to all of them briefly, Arya was quick to move on, regardless of what they’d said. 

When she came back Daenerys could feel the smile on her lips. “Will you sit this time?” she asked as she took the offered drink. She made a point to brush Arya’s hand with her own more than was strictly necessary in the process. 

“Would you like me to?”

It was Daenerys’s turn to smirk. Two could play this game. “Do you always answer a question, with a question?”

“Why do you want to know?” Arya challenged, just because she could. 

Daenerys laughed, a rare thing for her these days. “I’m curious,” she said, as she lifted her glass to see if her tolerance for rum had grown. 

“I told you my name,” Arya reminded her. “That was a question I answered without a question.” 

Daenerys nodded to the empty seat beside her. “Sit down already, we both know you’re going to.” 

“Do we now? That’s mighty presumptuous of you Dany.” Her eyes twinkled with untold mischief and there was something in the way Arya said her name that had her heart picking up speed in her chest. “Better?” she confirmed, once she was seated. 

“Much, now tell me about yourself Arya. What do you do when you aren’t wrestling snakes?”

She appeared to be considering the question before she answered, a trait Daenerys found appealing. “A bit of this and a bit of that. Whatever pays, really.” In the wake of her words they just stared at one another for a time. It could have been seconds or days, it was hard to tell. “What about you, what do you do?”

The question made her more comfortable. If Arya was asking it meant she hadn’t recognized Daenerys. Like Arya she tried to think about her reply. What did she do? Lately it seemed like all she did was listen to rich men whine. She’d become Queen to change things but change appeared to be a slow process. She wondered if she had the temperament for it. “I listen to people complain, while I imagine how much better things would be if they’d just stop talking.” 

Arya smiled at her outburst and Daenerys felt rather pleased that she’d gotten such a reaction out of her. “Would you like me to stop talking?”

She chuckled at that. Arya had nothing in common with the rich, spoiled men who came before her to demand her help. Hers was one of the lives Daenerys could improve if the pompous court in King’s Landing would just allow her to do as she wished. Instead she had to sit on her hands while Lords and Ladies bored her with talk about how these matters were typically handled under other rulers. Did they not understand that Daenerys had no desire to be anything like Robert Baratheon or Cersei Lannister? She’d scream if she had to endure one more lecture from Tyrion about the virtues of ‘waiting for the right time.’ “Please don’t, you are nothing like the people I am forced to speak to most of the time,” Dany admitted sincerely. If she’d ever spoken truer words, she couldn’t recall them. 

“Given how you speak of your usual company, I think I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“It absolutely is,” Daenerys promised. “Where are you from?” she asked, eager to learn more about her drinking partner. 

“I lived in Braavos for many years,” she said slowly. “I just returned recently.” 

Daenerys suspected there was something to that story, but she didn’t want to pry. Instead she chose to focus on the present. “What brought you to Westeros?”

“Fate,” she replied. “None of us can run from it, can we?” 

Daenerys considered her words. Was she fated to take the Iron Throne? She thought she was. She could have died a hundred times over, in Essos, on the journey across the Narrow Sea, or since landing in Dragonstone and she hadn’t. She’d survived, and she’d won. Was that fate or luck? Was there a difference? She’d never been religious, but accepted others were. Was Arya? “Is it comforting or terrifying to think we all have a place in this world? Is it reassuring or unsettling to believe we’re pieces in a game we can’t see?”

Arya studied for her a long time, likely checking to see if the question was a genuine one. It was. Perhaps Arya would have some insight that would make her current struggles more tolerable. Also, Daenerys did want to know how Arya felt on the subject. “In Braavos I studied at a temple. They taught me that we are all wild beasts, staggering through a chaotic existence, but that if we accept life for the storm it is, it’s easier to find our way.”

The words echoed in Daenerys’s mind. That would be something to save for later. When the rum wasn’t making it difficult to focus. She took another drink before she responded. “You’re a priestess then?”

Arya laughed again, sincerely and deeply, with one hand on her stomach. “By the Gods no, it wasn’t that sort of temple, at least not in the way you’re imagining it.” 

Daenerys liked seeing Arya smile, so she tried to make it happen again. “Do you think those who mentored you at the temple would approve of your hobby of fighting snakes?” 

“I don’t fight them,” Arya said, before emptying her glass. “I outsmart them, and my mentor wouldn’t disapprove, as long as I keep getting paid for my efforts.” 

With that Arya got up and Daenerys feared she planned to leave. She held out a hand, palm up. “Yes?” Daenerys inquired, not sure what she expected. 

“Drink up,” she ordered, “I want more, and I don’t want to make another trip.”

It had been a long time since anyone dared try and tell her what to do. In another situation, Daenerys might have bristled under those words, but she couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed, instead she was amused. She looked at her glass, less than half full but still with a substantial amount left. She steeled herself for what was coming and then picked it up. 

When it was empty she laid it in Arya’s hand instead of back on the table. “Good work,” the brunette praised.

Daenerys intended to pay for this round, but the rum she’d forced down made her cough and by the time she’d recovered Arya was already at the counter. 

“Are you here alone then?” Daenerys asked after Arya had returned to her. 

She smiled widely at the Queen. “Three drinks in and now you’re suddenly concerned if I’m alone?”

Perhaps it was the rum making her bold, or her desire to be with someone like Arya, someone who had no idea who she was, either way she could live with it. “I just wondered if there is a husband I’m keeping you from?”

“Subtle Dany,” Arya teased, “very subtle.”

She was unrepentant. “What can I say? I know what I like.”

She raised an eyebrow and then gave the Targaryen a look that made her doubt her sanity. “And you like me, of all the people you had to choose from?”

“Why not you?” Daenerys wondered aloud. She gave Arya another appraising once over and saw nothing unappealing about her. She was well-built, with angular features, was graceful, confident and good company, just to name a few. Her eyes were the sort Daenerys might get lost in if given the chance and her hair looked soft enough to run her fingers through, repeatedly. If that wasn’t plenty there was also Daenerys’s realization that she’d never encountered someone who viewed the world the way Arya did. If life was black and white, Arya was as grey as her eyes. Her comments about fate proved that. 

 

“Why not her?” Arya said pointing unashamed at a redheaded girl seated three tables away. The stranger blushed under Arya’s attention. 

“Too soft,” Daenerys countered privately, but seriously, “she looks fragile. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

Daenerys was a bit taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation. She’d made her feelings known. Arya had seen through her transparent questions to the root of the matter and yet she still hadn’t agreed. This wasn’t something Daenerys was used to. Daario had pledged himself to her before climbing in her bed and he’d been clear about his intentions well before that. Drogo took her because she was his wife, and after, because he could. She’d never needed to ask him more than once. Even the various lovers she’d had since, all of them had been eager to accept her affections. What made Arya special? With a start, she realized the possible reason for the difference. Since Daario all of her lovers had known her as a Queen. Could it be that the reason it was so hard to coax Arya was because she didn’t see Daenerys as royal? She’d wanted to experience life as a common woman and now she got more than she bargained for. The Gods did have a sense of humor. 

“And I’m not fragile, not soft?” Arya prodded, clearly not offended by the assumption. 

“Those are not words I’d use to describe you, no,” Daenerys justified, without looking away from Arya’s eyes. 

“What if I’m a terrible lover?” Arya asked with a straight face and somber tone. “Have you considered that? If I am, it may be a waste of your night.”

She took a drink of her rum before she answered. Using the extra few seconds to craft a retort. She’d seen Arya with the snakes, she’d watched her walk to the counter more than once, and she’d studied her at every available opportunity. She doubted Arya was a bad lover, but even if she was, she didn’t think the night would be ruined. “I’ll take my chances.”

Arya matched her drink with one of her own. “Fine.”

She said it so plainly, so suddenly that Daenerys wasn’t sure she’d heard it correctly. “Excuse me?”

“Finish your drink,” Arya instructed her. “It’ll help you forget if I’m terrible. I have a room upstairs.” 

“Just like that?” Daenerys asked before doing as Arya directed. 

“Why not?”

“You didn’t seem interested,” Daenerys pointed out. She’d blame the rum later. She was getting what she wanted, so why was she questioning it? 

“Patience Dany, I couldn’t make it too easy on you, could I? You wouldn’t respect me in the morning if I did.” 

Arya’s smile took the sting out of the realization she’d been played at a game she thought she knew well. Not the sort to back down from a challenge she stared across the table at Arya. “Hurry up and finish your rum, I want to see this room of yours.”

“You’ll see it,” Arya said before taking a sip, “part of it anyway.” While she tended to her alcohol Daenerys was left to wonder if she was supposed to hear that. She thought Arya had unintentionally spoken too loudly, until she met her grey eyes and found them lit with passion. It was no mistake. She’d wanted Daenerys to hear every single word. 

She and Arya finished their beverages at precisely the same time. Arya picked up the empty glasses and handed them off to a passing serving girl with a quickly mumbled, “Thank you.” 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Arya asked while escorting Daenerys up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor. 

“If you’re bad, I’ll blame the rum,” she joked from a step below. Her position afforded her a unique view and she took advantage of it. Daenerys’s eyes lingered on the curve of Arya’s ass for longer than was polite in civilized company but who was going to notice. 

Arya it seemed, would notice. She looked over her shoulder at the most inopportune time and caught Daenerys gawking. “Patience,” she said for the second time, smirking openly, entertained by the Queen’s antics. 

“Patience is not my strongest trait,” she explained as her eyes drifted again. 

At the top of the stairs Arya stopped and reached for Daenerys’s hand. “Yeah,” she said, pulling the smaller woman to her. “I’m starting to notice that.” 

Daenerys gladly held her hand out for Arya to take, but gasped in shock at the strength with which she was pulled in. Their bodies collided powerfully, eyes locked and darkening with lust. After ensuring she wouldn't fall, Arya slowly lowered her head for a tentative, sweet kiss. Daenerys lifted up to meet her. Arya’s lips were rougher than she expected, but not unpleasant. She was quite talented as it turned out. Arya pulled away first. “We should take this to my room before we get carried away.”

“You started it,” Daenerys remarked. Arya took her hand and guided her down the hall. In front of the last door on the right, she stopped walking. “I knew you wouldn’t be bad at this,” she said before she lifted up onto her toes to continue where they left off. 

Arya had been reaching into her pants for the room’s key when Daenerys stole a desperate kiss. To her amazement she managed to keep kissing and still fish around for the key. She got the door open without forcing a break in their connection. 

Once the door was open, Arya threw the unnecessary key inside wildly and then took advantage of her free hands. She picked Daenerys up with ease and carried her across the threshold. Her legs wrapped around Arya’s middle while their lips met for another hungry kiss. The need for air forced Daenerys to break away before she was truly finished. Like the rum, kissing Arya got better with every attempt. 

Daenerys didn’t get much chance to notice the room before Arya kicked the door closed behind them. She pivoted and pressed Daenerys’s back against the rough wooden door. Her tongue worked across the seam of Daenerys’s lips until her mouth opened and then it pushed its way inside. 

To her delight, Arya’s hands- which started by holding her hips- moved to her ass. As she had that thought one journeyed to the outside of her leg, rubbing gently, while threatening deliciously to wander even higher. Arya ended the kiss just as her hand touched Daenerys’s thigh for the first time and she moaned shamelessly in reply. It might be unbecoming for a Queen to act so brazen, but Dany wasn’t a Queen tonight, not here, not with Arya. 

Before her hand reached its destination, Arya spun them again, carrying Daenerys toward the bed. She laid her down with unexpected tenderness and care and then much to Daenerys’s delight began stripping off her clothes while she stood at the foot of the bed. 

Hungry violet eyes took in every detail. Starting with how Arya’s thin lips were reddened by the aggressiveness of their kisses. When she pulled her shirt over her head Daenerys couldn’t hold back the gasp. Not because she wasn’t gorgeous but because the scars that she’d seen on Arya’s arms were only the beginning. Her stomach, chest, and shoulders were all lined with gruesome, violent markings. She hadn’t realized she was staring so intently until Arya’s voice called to her. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

“What happened to you?” While she waited for the answer she regarded a particularly thick scar under her neck. It must have been hidden by the very top of her collar to have avoided Daenerys’s detection all night. She tried to guess what could create such a blemish but came away wanting. She’d didn’t have much experience with weaponry. 

Arya was already picking up her shirt. “You can go if you want, I wouldn’t blame you.”

What? Why would she want to go? She repeated the words she’d said in her head and saw how they might be misinterpreted. She sought to clear things up quickly. “No, you’re beautiful Arya, and I’m where I want to be, I was just worried for you.”   
Her words caused Arya to hesitate covering her top half. “They’re old, from a long time ago.”

She didn’t doubt that. Wounds that extensive would take years to accumulate and wouldn’t fade for ages afterwards. “Come here,” she said opening her arms in invitation. Arya looked unsure, so Daenerys prompted her further. “I don’t care about your past, all that matters to me is right now, right here. You’re perfect, I saw it before I even knew your name.” 

That extra bit of reassurance did its job and brought Arya to her. Daenerys met her halfway, hoping to put her worries at ease with a passionate kiss.

Unable to lift Arya she settled for nudging her gently toward the bed. The bigger woman took the hint and climbed up, kneeling in front of Daenerys, who refused to end the kiss before it was absolutely necessary. Her hands went around to Arya’s bare back and she felt what she was sure were more scars. She’d meant what she said, Arya was beautiful, and no scars could change that. They didn’t matter one bit, not to her, not tonight. 

When she got her hands on Arya’s ass, it was every bit as firm and tempting as it had appeared on the staircase. She squeezed it hard before letting her hands roam up Arya’s back to her shoulders. “Don’t be gentle on my account,” she teased as Daenerys’s mouth moved to her neck. Well that was a challenge if Daenerys had ever heard one. Deciding to see what Arya’s made of she curled her hands into claws and raked her nails down Arya’s back hard. Instead of objecting, she leaned into the touch and let out the most erotic mixture of a growl and a moan that Daenerys had ever heard. 

While she lavished Arya’s neck and throat with attention she reluctantly pulled her hands away from their newest toy and reached for the straps of her dress. When she pushed the silk down off her shoulders, it slid down her body in a rush, puddling around her knees. As was typical Arya missed nothing. “Seven Hells, you’re amazing,” she said, pulling away from Daenerys’s mouth to get a better look. 

The Queen blushed under her approval, and then gathered up the silk from under her. She searched for a place to set it, and quickly gave up, letting it fall onto the floor somewhere near the key Arya threw. She was used to compliments but most came because of her title and position and not because she’d earned them. Arya didn’t know her and therefore it meant more. “Thank you.”

“I can’t be the first to say so,” she assumed, “you must have a line of suitors everyday, eager to tell you how stunning you are.”

“Not as many as you think,” Daenerys acknowledged wryly. 

“I’ll never understand people,” Arya remarked with a shake of her head. “Their loss is my gain.” 

With that she pushed Daenerys flat onto her back and straddled her waist. In this position she was at a distinct disadvantage for most things, except removing Arya’s pants, so her hands got to work on that, while Arya stared down at her with fire in her steel-colored eyes. The lust she saw, confirmed for her one final time that Arya wanted this just as badly as Daenerys did. 

Rough, calloused hands reached down to Daenerys’s breasts, covering them fully and massaging firmly. The same hands that avoided snake bites were also adept at other things. She teased Daenerys’s nipples to hard points with her thumbs while the silver-haired Queen squirmed from the bottom. Her self-appointed task of getting Arya as naked as she was, was proving difficult since she couldn’t truly focus. She managed to get the pants open and off her hips before she got distracted. Daenerys pushed Arya back slightly, to give her a better angle to reach what she wanted. It took some work, getting her hand inside the front of Arya’s pants, but what waited there made it worthwhile. Her own arousal doubled when she felt Arya’s, and Daenerys couldn’t wait to be inside her. After a few quick strokes rubbing the length of Arya’s opening she pushed two fingers in and was thrilled by the response. Arya’s hands stilled on her breasts and her hips thrusted forward, into Daenerys’s touch. Getting her pants down with only one hand was a test but Daenerys was determined. She’d nearly accomplished it, when Arya flattened herself against Daenerys’s body, so their lips could meet again. Moving her busy fingers with Arya’s weight on her was nearly impossible, so she settled for keeping them in place while Arya took care of the movement.

When Arya’s mouth found her neck, Daenerys saw stars. She forgot about the nonsense with the pants and just wrapped her free arm around Arya’s neck tightly. When she thought the dark-haired woman meant to pull away, she grabbed a handful of hair and held her in place. 

Time stood still and all the things that had forced Daenerys away from the Red Keep couldn’t have mattered less. Arya shaking over top of her was the beginning and end of her world in that moment. Arya’s first climax came hard and fast not long after her teeth bit down on Daenerys’s neck. She tore her mouth away, tossed her head back, and doubled her speed on Dany’s fingers. Daenerys kept up the assault, circling her most sensitive spot with her thumb while her fingers tried to find new depths. “Fuck!” Arya hissed through clenched teeth when it finally overtook her. 

With pride Daenerys pulled her fingers free and was in the process of thinking up a witty remark when Arya shocked her by rolling them both. She shrieked until she was overwhelmed by her new post on top of the larger woman. This, she could live with. She took some time to balance herself properly while grey eyes watched with unbridled hunger. Arya’s hands went for her breasts again and Daenerys decided to deny her. She gripped her wrists and pinned them to the bed above her head. 

She didn’t think it was possible but by refusing Arya, she’d somehow deepened her want for the secret Queen. Daenerys had no illusions. If Arya wished to be free of her hold, she could have done it, and yet she didn’t. Instead, she writhed on the bed, making Daenerys work to keep her arms flat, but never pulling hard enough to break her grip. More games, Daenerys thought with a grin. Her lover liked games; snakes, verbal jousting and now playful capture. 

“Feeling rather in control up there, aren’t you?” Arya jested as she looked up at the small woman straddling her. 

“I am,” she admitted. “How does it feel to be my prisoner.” As she said that, she tightened her grip, expecting Arya to respond with a more vigorous attempt to free herself, but she was as unpredictable as she was intriguing. Her arms stayed flat while her lower body rocked from side to side. With a turn of her hip, she bumped one of Daenerys’s thighs. Not hard enough to dislodge her, but close. Before she could recover Arya was rolling the opposite way, carrying all of her momentum with her. This time Daenerys was going to fall, and she cried out as she felt it starting to happen. She hadn’t taken time to examine the floor, but she expected it would be unforgiving, hard and dirty. She closed her eyes in anticipation of being thrown off the bed, but the fall never came. 

Arya’s arms, no longer motionless held her securely as she dangled partially over the edge of the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest for a variety of reasons. Arya took the opportunity to claim her mouth, using her tongue to lengthen the duration and heighten the pleasure, all without returning Daenerys to the mattress fully. Hanging there, at Arya’s mercy was exhilarating and Daenerys kissed back heard. 

After she was back in the center of the bed Arya reclaimed her perch on top. She started by once again straddling Daenerys’s waist but didn’t stay there for long. She was quickly slithering down the length of Daenerys’s quivering body, leaving kisses, licks and even bites at random intervals. More than once Daenerys considered trying to return the pleasure she was receiving but she could never hold the thought long enough to act on it. Arya didn’t seem to mind. While she taunted Daenerys with her mouth, she finished the forgotten task of removing her own pants, pushing them the rest of the way down and then kicking them away with relative ease, all without stopping or even slowing what she was doing. 

Her small but forceful hands were holding the back of Arya’s head, to ensure she didn’t change her mind and end things before Daenerys had her fill. She wasn’t sure she could survive that. Arya’s hair, she noted, was just as soft as it looked- and she combed her fingers through it frantically as her breasts were lavished in kisses. While Arya sucked on one of Daenerys’s hard, pink nipples the last Targaryen found the knot in the band that held Arya’s hair and released it. She dropped the tie to the bed and continued to play. Over her Arya had switched to the other breast and was ensuring it received just as much affection. 

Arya was definitely a fan of her breasts, it was the only reason she could think of for why the woman was stalling there. Daenerys subtly tried to encourage her head lower, to the place where she wanted it, but Arya wouldn’t go. Finally, when she didn’t think she could wait much longer she was forced to do something no self-respecting Queen should, she begged. “Lower, please Arya, I need it.” Just one more thing to blame on the rum come morning. 

Her words drew her lover’s head up off of her breasts and she wore that same smirk she’d seen when Arya was opposing snakes. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said, pausing for an instant to let her words sink in and then she ducked her head again, picking up where she left off, just under Daenerys’s sensitive breasts and inching down.

She wanted to be angry that Arya was still playing games at a time like this, but it wouldn’t have been honest. The sensations she was invoking made it hard to feel anything but lewd appreciation for bed partner. That and a large helping of anticipation as her mouth neared the center of Daenerys’s thighs. 

She was so close to her prize that Daenerys could feel her warm breath against her overheated skin. Arya avoided her lips and first placed a single kiss on the inside of each of Daenerys’s thighs. She was going to complain when Arya skipped over her pussy again and returned to her leg, but her words died in her throat when Arya delivered a bite and not a kiss. The sharp, unexpected pain had Daenerys bucking off the bed while her heavily lidded eyes widened fully. Arya looked up to grin devilishly at Daenerys’s reaction. 

Just when she thought she was going to need to plead again to get her way, Arya lunged forward and landed right where the Queen needed her. Her legs, already spread, opened wider to give her companion room. 

With the flat part of her tongue she stroked Daenerys’s wet lips, from the bottom to the top, passing over her clit before she was done. She gave in far sooner than Arya had, crying out, from the first pass, confessing how desperately she wanted this. Arya stopped licking and looked at Daenerys with her lips a hair’s breadth away from contact, making her wait again. Daenerys had been patient enough. She used her hands in Arya’s hair to close the distance and then maximized the contact by thrusting her hips up to meet her mouth. The combination was enough to send her eyes rolling back in her head. By the Gods, how had Arya ever thought she’d be a poor lover? 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Daenerys chanted, in her own private prayer. Arya’s rough fingers were a sharp contrast to her tongue when she separated Daenerys’s lips and set her tongue between them. Before long she was spending more time with her ass off the bed, than on it. Her climax was approaching rapidly, and Daenerys fought to hold it back. She wanted, needed this to go on for as long as it could. She’d been relatively successful in prolonging her pleasure and Arya hadn’t complained once. Her tongue, like her hands didn’t seem to tire and she was relentless in her quest to see Daenerys explode. 

Her eyes were shut in pleasure and she could think of nothing but Arya’s tongue, so she was acutely unprepared for the sudden introduction of one of Arya’s long, rough fingers. While her mouth and tongue sucked and teased her clit, she buried a finger deep inside her, thrusting powerfully. Daenerys screamed a wordless shriek that shifted into Arya’s name before she was through. She lifted up into Arya again and once she was overwhelmed with pleasure she fell back on the bed. Instead of granting her reprieve Arya moved with her to ensure she couldn’t catch her breath. When she finally removed her finger, Daenerys thought she’d be able to hold off the eruption that was threatening inside her, but it wasn’t to be. As soon as she was empty Arya replaced the one finger with two, thrusting and curling them up to reach a point inside of her Daenerys wasn’t aware she had. That combined with Arya sucking on her clit was too much and she gave in. The pulsing pleasure made her clench tighter and tighter as she felt her climax fast approaching. Wave after wave of satisfaction crashed against her, each one more intense and unforgiving that the last. Her voice was raw and horse by the time she was done. She was a panting, shaking mess. Seven-fucking-Hells, how had Arya known that was exactly what she needed? 

Daenerys’s breathing slowly calmed as she tried to recover. Her heart thudded in her chest and she was glad to know she was not the only one of them that could feel it. Arya moved out from between her legs and crawled up the bed to lie next to the spent woman. Daenerys watched her as she did, eyelids heavy, her body drained. Unlike her, Arya was still every bit as graceful and composed as when they’d started. The major difference being that now she was infinitely more sensual, as she cleaned the juices from around her mouth with broad strokes of the same tongue that had driven Daenerys wild. 

Once they were level, she propped herself up on an elbow and faced Daenerys. “What are you thinking?” 

That question, simple and innocent as it was, woke something inside her. She’d been on the edge of sleep only moments ago and then Arya had unknowingly tapped into a reserve of stamina and lust Daenerys had never needed before. She wet her lips as she’d seen Arya do and tried to mimic the smirk that had entranced her so completely. She didn’t need a mirror to know the fire was back in her eyes. Arya had woken the Dragon and for once it would be a pleasurable experience for all involved. She was already leaning toward Arya before she replied. “I’m thinking, I guess it’s my turn,” she said, before their mouths connected. Daenerys could taste herself and it drove her to want to taste Arya next. Yes, she decided, she wanted Arya much more than she needed sleep. 

R-C

The morning sun had already risen by the time Daenerys tried to untangle herself from Arya’s side. Last night had been exactly what she needed and while she knew it was necessary, she wasn’t ready for it to end. She took a long look at the woman beside her. She was relaxed in sleep in a way Daenerys hadn’t witnessed when she was awake. She was always tense, watching, listening, ready and waiting for something to happen. She wasn’t like that now, she looked younger, and dare she say, content. Daenerys hoped she played some small part in that. Without trying Arya had delivered exactly what Daenerys was seeking when she snuck away from the castle. She got to spend a few blissful hours not being a Queen and they were better than she could have predicted. For that reason alone, she bent down and gave her lover one final kiss, even if she wasn’t able to appreciate it. 

She got off the bed and went in search of her dress. The night before had left its mark. In addition to an ache that rippled through every part of her body she felt as if her mouth had stopped producing saliva. She swallowed hard to try and fix it. She did what she could to remain silent, so not to interrupt Arya’s dream. They’d spent hours pleasuring one another and Daenerys lost count of how many times Arya had made her scream, she’d earned the chance to rest. It was a shame the real world beckoned, because she was incredibly tempted to stay. Unfortunately, she’d already delayed too long. 

“Sneaking out on me, Daenerys?” Arya asked from the bed. 

She’d had been adjusting her dress and thought Arya was still asleep. She fully intended to write a note before leaving. That is, until she realized something, Arya had just said her name, her real name, a name Daenerys never told her. “You knew!? When?”

“From the moment I laid eyes on you,” Arya said. Although she wanted to deny it, there was a conviction in her tone that was impossible to refute. “The songs they sing about you don’t do you justice.” 

“You didn’t say anything,” Daenerys said harshly, accusatorily. 

“You told me your name was Dany, I figured it was because you didn’t want me to know.” 

“You said you didn’t know me…”

“I didn’t,” Arya confirmed. “Hearing some bard’s exaggerated stories about a woman and meeting her are hardly the same thing.” 

Daenerys' anger was bubbling up. “Is that why you chose to speak to me, to come to my table, you wished to bed a Queen?” 

“Your table?” Arya verified, her amused expression only serving to anger Daenerys more. 

“You approached me!”

“Going to bed together was your idea, not mine and it was my table, or did you never ask yourself why no one was sitting there?” 

“It was meant for you?”

“They leave it empty while I deal with the snakes,” Arya explained. “I guess no one told you.”

Her fury was melting away. “No, they didn’t.” She looked at the night before with fresh eyes. It definitely had been her idea to go to bed, but that was when she thought Arya didn’t know who she was. She’d agree hearing about the Queen and meeting her were two vastly different things, but that wasn’t an excuse. Daenerys was no one’s fool. She wasn’t sure how to feel. She recalled the amused way Arya had said her name, and how the table was indeed empty while all around it people were forced to stand. It was hard to refute the facts. Arya’s memories had the ring of truth. Daenerys wasn’t prepared to admit that just yet though. “You expect me to believe you knew I was the Queen?” she asked, her words colored with doubt. 

“I knew you were the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I just didn’t give a fuck.” 

Shocked, she tried to think back, to remember one person, just one who hadn’t cared that she was royalty, but since she claimed the throne there hadn’t been any. Until now. “You don’t give a fuck?” she repeated back, in awed confusion. It couldn’t be that simple, could it?

“Why should it matter?” Arya wondered. “I didn’t take you to bed because you have a list of impressive titles, I did it because you’re beautiful and because I wanted to.” 

She wanted to believe that, but she was having a hard time keeping up with her emotions. “Why? If you want gold…”

“Calm down Daenerys,” Arya insisted. “I don’t want anything from you, not last night or this morning.”

“What’s in it for you then?” Daenerys asked more harshly than was fair. 

She shrugged her scarred shoulders. “I didn’t plan this,” she said gesturing to the bed where they’d spent the night. “I originally just wanted to talk to you.” 

“What changed?” 

Arya took time to consider her words just as she had downstairs. “I have little use for Lords, Ladies, nobility and the like. I didn’t think I’d enjoy your company, but I did.” She paused briefly and then continued. “You’re kind of hard not to like, you know; you’re beautiful, talented, funnier than I thought you’d be and more interesting too. That’s why I brought you up here, that’s why I’m telling you the truth now. I know you have a life to live, kingdoms to rule and I’ll never see you again, but I didn’t want you to go before I got to say thank you.”

“You want to thank me?” she heard herself ask. Why was it she felt the need to repeat everything? She’d never needed to do that with anyone else but in Arya’s company it was almost as if she didn’t trust her ears to function properly. Arya's words warmed her heart in places that had been cold for a very long time.

Arya pushed away from the pillow and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Sitting there she looked up at Daenerys, fully naked. “Last night was incredible.”

On that much at the very least they agreed. “I enjoyed it too,” she admitted. Was it better that Arya knew? She’d been angry at first but the more she thought about it, the less it mattered. They’d never see each other again, so what was the use in holding a grudge? Arya was still the same person who helped her forget her troubles, even if Daenerys’s identity wasn’t as secret as she thought. 

When she turned to go, she felt almost guilty. “I would stay, but…”

“Don’t start lying to me now,” Arya said, smirking, as she pulled on the same pair of pants she’d taken off the night before. 

Their odd situation aside, Daenerys was soothed by the fact that Arya was accepting of the way things had to be. She smiled. “I did lie about my name.”

“That hardly counts,” Arya assured her. “The rest was true. The important parts were true.”

“Yes,” Daenerys agreed as she opened the door, “they were.” Maybe that was enough. It would have to be. “Goodbye Arya.” 

“Goodbye Dany.”

R-C


	2. Chapter 2

They were there when she came over a hill, about halfway between the tavern where she’d spent the night and King’s Landing. They were spread out in a wide search pattern, three dozen Unsullied with Grey Worm and Ser Jorah at the head. She didn’t need to wonder what they were looking for, or more accurately who. 

The sun was bright and warm on her skin and it echoed her attitude. She knew she was smiling. It was a good day or had been. “It couldn’t last forever,” she said ruefully before she urged her horse forward. 

Grey Worm spotted her first, using his large spear to point her out. Even starting from a few paces back Jorah reached her side first. “Khaleesi,” he called dismounting his horse before it had fully stopped. “Are you hurt?” His shrewd eyes swept her body over for any signs of injury. Could he tell where she’d been and what she’d been doing during her hours away? His barrage of harsh questions forced her to pay attention to the present, even as she wanted to disappear into the recent past. “… worried sick. Where have you been? We’ve been searching since last night.”

She held up a hand to stem his tide of questions. They would only sour her mood further. “I’m fine, I just needed to take a ride and clear my thoughts.” 

“Alone?” Jorah verified skeptically. He looked around, hunting for the slightest sign she wasn’t by herself. 

“Yes,” she assured him, feeling slightly saddened to admit it. She was alone now, because she’d left Arya and would likely never see her again. 

“That was…” 

Daenerys didn’t want to hear how he’d finish that statement. “Do me a favor?” she asked one of her oldest, and most overprotective friends. 

“Anything,” he promised, his love for her clear in his tired eyes. 

She gave him a small, indulgent smile. “Save the lecture until I’ve had a bath and something to eat, please.” The last word was added as an afterthought to take the sting out of her directive. Jorah was worried about her and didn’t deserve her frustrations just because she hadn’t wanted to return. If only the old knight knew how hard it was to keep her horse going toward King’s Landing and the throne they’d fought for. The number of times she almost turned around along the way was a secret she’d need to carry to her grave. No one would understand, if they knew the truth. Daenerys left him and his horse behind and continued on down the road. 

Grey Worm said nothing until his horse fell in line with hers. He looked tired, and she guessed he hadn’t slept the night before. Nonetheless he was steady in the saddle with his back straight and his eyes wide. He wore a tight smile as he bowed his head in an unnecessary show of submission. “Your Grace,” he began, “welcome back.” 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. It was such a simple thing, but Daenerys took joy from the fact that at least one person would rather welcome her home instead of rushing head-first into the criticisms and the yelling. 

Jorah caught up to them, back on his horse. He rode on the opposite side from Grey Worm, trapping Daenerys in the center. She doubted that was unintentional. “We thought you’d gone with Drogon, but he returned last night, alone, my Queen.” 

She bristled slightly at the title. The unasked questions were clear. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” she said as she looked away from Jorah’s stare. “I just needed some space to think.”

“You shouldn’t…”

She was reminded of the many reasons she’d wanted to escape the capitol the previous evening. It was a struggle not to simply turn and run. Tempting as it was, she had responsibilities. She promised the people of the Seven Kingdoms a better life when she took the throne and so far, she hadn’t delivered. She couldn’t give up, the people needed her, people like all those strangers in the tavern who didn’t recognize her, people like Arya. “Later,” she insisted, silently hoping that moment would never come. 

R-C

Later came quickly. Jorah pressed her for an explanation, while reprimanding her for her reckless actions. Tyrion tried a gentler approach, bringing wine and soft words. Daenerys could tell he was equal in his curiosity, though he hid it better. Neither man was successful in learning the truth. Missandei sensed she didn’t want to discuss it and said little beyond, ‘I’m glad your back.’

For days she expertly avoided all subjects related to her unplanned trip. She dodged questions about her destination by talking only of the journey to the tavern and back and not what happened in between. She placated concerns about her motives behind vague half-truths. She somehow managed to keep Arya and their meeting secret under constant scrutiny.

As one week became two, Daenerys took solace in the company of those who didn’t pry into her affairs. She locked herself away more than was healthy with Missandei and discussed anything other than her actions. When she was forced to be social, she found herself mixing among the soldiers who fought for her. These men cared not one bit for rumor or politics and Daenerys could appreciate their straightforward, blunt approach to the world. The Dothraki didn’t give a fuck where she’d gone or why, at least not once it was clear she hadn’t fought without them. The Unsullied were silent, having been well-trained not to question those who led them. 

Grey Worm was the one exception. As was often the case, he’d been selected to speak for his troops. He approached her when she was alone, exactly two weeks after she’d left Arya’s bed. “Are you well?” he inquired. 

She was touched by his worry, understanding his reasons. Unlike the women at court, Grey Worm wasn’t interested in idle gossip, and he wasn’t the sort to collect and store secrets as Varys was prone to do. “I’m fine,” she assured him, giving him a real smile. “I won’t need anything else tonight, if you see Missandei be sure to let her know she can take the rest of the night off as well.” 

“Are you certain?” he asked in his native tongue. 

“I am.” She nodded to confirm it and then reached for her glass. Grey Worm and Missandei were owed the chance to get away from the castle for a few hours. Daenerys knew as well as anyone just how important such reprieves could be. 

While some forgot their questions or chose not to broach the subject, not everyone could be so easily swayed. Neither Tyrion nor Jorah had given up their quest to learn where she’d been and what she’d been doing. When Varys returned from a trip to the Westerlands, the Spider joined them in their efforts. It didn’t matter how many times they asked, or in how many different ways. It wasn’t for them to know. Some things, admittedly few things, were hers alone. 

Arya occasionally crossed her mind. She fondly remembered the taste of her lips and the feel of her hands. More than once she thought about writing her a letter, but she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t love, they’d both known that from the start, but perhaps that was precisely why Daenerys wanted it. With Arya there were no expectations, no requirements, no pressures. She didn’t need to be the regal Queen, holding the Realm together with her bare hands. Arya asked nothing of her and accepted what Daenerys gave knowing it could never be more. It had been a long time since anyone, even those closest to her didn’t ask or expect anything from her. It was just one more reason to hold Arya out above all the rest. 

There was no dramatic moment, no sudden severe act that tipped the scales. Instead it was a slow, steady drip, like rain water falling into a bucket. One drop at a time, each insignificant and meaningless in its own right, until they’re combined. Day after day, week after week, drip after drip. She felt it when she listened to some smug Lord tell her what she couldn’t do in her lands. It was there when her Master of Coin informed her how little the treasury held, and when Jorah hovered over her shoulder afraid to look away or leave the room for fear she’d disappear without his consent or companionship. 

After a grueling day Daenerys was cornered by Tyrion and forced to relive every moment of a long, torturous meeting with a Septon seeking donations. It seemed like a lifetime the first time and the second was even worse. Tyrion pointed out her every misstep and provided corrective lessons. She left without an apology, before he was done and raced for the staircase. She was certain he called after her, but she heard nothing other than the imaginary dripping that had come to symbolize her rapidly approaching breaking point. Later when Missandei arrived with wine to dull her frustrations Daenerys yearned for the burn of cheap rum. She couldn’t do this. She got up so suddenly she knocked over her glass. She paid it no mind on her way out the door. 

She passed the room where Jorah and a group of Dothraki were talking. It provided Daenerys with the only cover she’d need to get into the yard without being detected. 

The cold night air chilled her to the core and her heart pounded in response, pumping more of her heated blood through her veins to try and stay warm. Was this why her father had gone mad? Was this the reason everyone who ruled was either drunk and lazy or impulsive and murderous? She’d always assumed they were like that before, be it her father, Robert or Cersei but now she was beginning to have her doubts. Maybe it was the throne and its power that corrupted them and not the other way around. Was it ruining her too? She definitely feared it was. It never ended, day or night, rain or shine, there was always more to do. No matter how seriously, how diligently she worked, the line never shortened. The faces changed, the voices varied but it was an endless cycle of demands and pleas. No one came to help, no one said ‘thank you’, and although she tried to tend to everyone, it was a fool’s errand. Regardless of her efforts the crowd would reappear the next morning at sunrise like some twisted form of ancient magic. 

Another thing she hadn’t been prepared for was just how contrarian some people chose to be. She ignorantly imagined that simple things, good things, would be met with universal support but that wasn’t reality. Even her latest idea of opening another orphanage to ensure a bed, food and education for the thousands of orphans her war with Cersei created, some in court still opposed it. She couldn’t get even the most basic concessions. 

Outside Drogon was waiting, his huge dark eyes on the door as if he somehow expected her. She was too grateful to worry about such things. In that moment there was only one place she wanted to go, only one person she wanted to see. 

Safely in the air, she acknowledged how childish she was behaving. She couldn’t run every time she had a problem. She was a Queen and needed to act like one. There was also the matter of Arya to contend with. It had been months since she’d last seen her and had no idea if an unexpected visit would be welcome. In fact, Daenerys knew very little about the woman she was stalking. Her lack of knowledge not withstanding, the dark-haired stranger visited her dreams and waking thoughts with increasing frequency. The burdened Queen ached for the oblivion Arya provided, hoping she could recreate the relief she felt when she was in Arya’s scarred arms. 

R-C

With Drogon’s help the trip from the Red Keep was much faster. Still, it was dark on a moonless night when she arrived. She’d set the dragon down on a farmer’s field a long walk away from the tavern’s rear door. She didn’t mind. Now that she was here, it was easier to breathe, and Daenerys appreciated the chance to organize her thoughts. 

As she did, she tried to prepare to see Arya again. What would she say? How would she justify returning when she’d made it clear she never would? Would Arya be pleased to see her? Before she’d come up with a strategy, she was inside. Her eyes bounced from left to right, listening for the sound of cheering drunks or hissing snakes. Although busy the tavern wasn’t nearly as crowded as the last time she’d been. Most notably the tables were arranged on both sides of the room, leaving no space for Arya to sit and tangle with snakes for her adoring audience. 

With dwindling hope, she searched the room, face after face, looking for a specific set of unforgiving steel-colored eyes. None came close. She wound her way through the bodies and ignored two separate attempts to get her attention. At the counter she would have ordered rum if she’d thought to bring gold with her. 

Behind the counter was a woman and not the man from Dany’s first visit. “Is Arya here?!” she shouted above the noise. The look on her face said plenty, she had no idea who Arya was and so she was of no use to the Queen. Leaning her back on the counter she looked for anyone she remembered, anyone who might be able to point her in the right direction. 

When she saw her, she smiled, the old woman who ran the place. She was once again standing in the doorway to the kitchen, overseeing her kingdom. Daenerys made her way over. “I’m looking for Arya,” she said loudly, wanting to make sure she was heard over the commotion, manners be damned. 

“Who?” she shouted back. For the first time her hands left her hips and then quickly crossed over her chest. Although she was giving Daenerys a fraction of her attention, her eyes kept shifting to a table of rowdy patrons. 

“Arya,” Daenerys repeated, “she’s got dark hair, and grey eyes.” Annoyed with the lack of recognition she held up her hand to demonstrate Arya’s approximate height. “She’s about this tall, and she works here.” 

“Ain’t none of my girls look like that!” the woman resisted. 

Daenerys didn’t have time for this. “The snake girl!” she screamed when the woman looked like she’d given up on their conversation all together. 

She surprised the Targaryen by laughing. “Was that her name?”

A new flurry of questions came to the front of her mind. How could Arya work and live here and never tell anyone her name? Why had she told Daenerys, if it was such a secret? Her mind set those aside for later and focused on the most important. “Is she here?!”

She’d go upstairs and check for herself if this woman wasn’t inclined to help. Normally she’d sweeten her questions with coin, but she was fresh out. “She left few weeks back!” she explained, dashing the last of Daenerys’s hope. “Didn’t tell us she was leaving or nothin’, just gone.”

“Where did she go?” The world was a big place and Daenerys couldn’t be expected to check everywhere for one beautiful woman, could she? She didn’t need much, just a hint, something, anything. 

“Maybe she was scared,” the woman provided without looking away from something happening behind Daenerys’s back. 

“Scared of what?” she demanded to know. A knot of worry tied itself in the pit of her stomach. If anyone hurt Arya, she’d use every coin in the treasury, every soldier under her banner and she’d take revenge. 

“Night ‘fore she left, a guest died, dropped dead right in his mead.” With a shake of her head she met Daenerys’s eye again. “Shame too, was a regular and always paid his due.”

She wasn’t done, but apparently had reached her limit. Without another word, the woman turned her back on Daenerys and successfully ended their conversation. “Wait!” she called out, to no avail. 

Suddenly there was no reason for her to stay. Her feet carried her to where she left Drogon without instruction from her brain. Her muddled thoughts were a mixture of disappointment, fear and anxiety. Where was Arya? Was she okay? 

R-C

After her failed attempt to reunite with Arya, Daenerys returned to the keep, this time before anyone realized she’d left. A few people questioned where she’d been, but she’d been able to craft a believable lie, saying she was busy in another part of the castle. She wasn’t sure what concerned her most, that she lied to her friends at all, or how easy it was. 

Privately Daenerys tried everything she could think of, to relax and ease the tension after long days on the throne. One night she climbed into a hot bath with a book to read. She hoped the story in the pages could replace her world briefly. After reading the same page at least six times, she gave it up as a lost cause. The next night she used wine and Missandei’s lively company but even that was only marginally successful. At the same moment she was laughing with Missandei and having a good time, a large amount of her mind was thinking about the day. Hours before she heard arguments being made as one family tried to justify their actions against another. The feud was twice her age. There were dead on both sides, and now everyone was looking to her for a decision. How could she possibly weigh something so complicated, so intricate. They’d both been wrong and they’d both been wronged. Could that ever be made right? 

One night two weeks after she and Drogon visited the tavern Daenerys decided a lover was what she needed to relax. It worked with Arya, perhaps it would work again. She didn’t expect the encounter to be as pleasurable as her night with Arya but if it helped even a fraction as much, it would be worthwhile. She’d be able to carry on her meetings without snapping rudely at those around her, and maybe she could get some sleep, the dreamless kind that she was desperate for. 

The Red Keep had no shortage of potential bed partners. In fact, her home was likely better stocked than any of the brothels in the city. She had men and women from all over the world to choose from. There was something for every taste. She briefly considered taking a Blood Rider to bed. For an instant she thought the familiarity would remind her of simpler times, of Drogo, but she quickly dismissed the idea. She hadn’t been with any member of the khalasar since Drogo’s death and she didn’t think now was the time to change that. No matter who she chose, they’d fail to live up to the Khal in her mind and she’d be left wanting, reminded of her loss. 

Missandei confirmed for her that the Unsullied were capable lovers and although she was curious, she quickly moved past the soldiers. 

Getting Jorah into bed would have been easy. Daenerys didn’t think she’d have to do more than hint that she was interested, before he would jump at the chance. He was her oldest friend and Daenerys always felt guilty for not returning the feelings he clearly had for her, but the spark just wasn’t there. 

She laughed to herself as she thought of propositioning Tyrion. Tales of his adventures with whores were well known both inside the castle and beyond. She had little doubt that if she went to the top of the Hand’s Tower she would find her most talented advisor already occupied. The only real question was how many women would be up there with him? If the stories were true, her Hand had a wide-ranging sexual appetite. It was as much of a Westerosi legend as any White Walker. Was that why he was always so calm? 

As she went through her options one face kept reappearing in her mind, the one she couldn’t have. Arya. If Arya were available, she would choose her without hesitation. Given that acknowledgement it didn’t take Daenerys long to find a girl who could replace Arya in her arms for the night. She worked in the stables, brushing the horses, making sure they were fed and cared for. She had a rich tan, bright green eyes and brown hair that was just a little too light, but the Queen didn’t care. Nothing else had worked, so she was running out of options. 

Convincing the girl to join her was easy, so easy it almost wrecked the fantasy. Arya had made her work for it. As they spoke Daenerys couldn’t look away from her eyes. A gnawing voice told her they were all wrong. It would be hard to pretend it was Arya in her bed if she had those green eyes staring back at her. Daenerys plunged ahead. She needed this. She could do it, she’d just close her eyes tight and hope she didn’t call out the wrong name. 

R-C

The legend of the Mad King loomed large over the Red Keep and Daenerys. She didn’t want to be anything like her father and worked hard to ensure she wasn’t. Most of the time it wasn’t a problem. Occasionally however when she was particularly tired, frustrated or angry, she would be overcome by the desire to hit someone or something. She hadn’t told anyone, unsure of what to say. Privately though it scared her. In those moments she felt closer to Viserys than she ever had when he was alive. The thought repulsed her. She didn’t want to be like him either. She didn’t want her staff, her advisors, or her friends to tiptoe around her, afraid of upsetting the tyrannical Targaryen. She fought it all day, every day, from the moment she opened her eyes until she finally gave in to the restless sleep. 

When she slipped up and yelled, overreacting to a minor slight, she was quick to apologize, doing so in person and sincerely to make it clear she meant it. She heard the whispers about her and noticed an increase in the number of conversations that stopped abruptly when she came too close. She tried not to let it bother her, but it was difficult. 

In her weakest moments she cried, always alone, wondering if this was how it started for her father and brother too? Was it only a matter of time until her rage couldn’t be contained? Would she inspire fear in all those around her? Would she spiral into madness like the last Targaryen royal until she couldn’t help but see enemies in every shadow and traitors where her loved ones used to stand? 

R-C

On the day of the tourney held in her honor Daenerys wished she could be someplace else. She’d seen enough violence in her life, enough war and enough soldiers. She had no taste for it now, even if it was only sport. Her reign was supposed to be one of peace, so why did everyone insist on showing their worth in imaginary battles? 

It was a dark day, with thick clouds that were threatening rain even though not a single drop had fallen. To her dismay it wasn’t enough to stop the event. She was riding in the center of a team of Unsullied and Dothraki troops, with Tyrion on one side and Missandei on the other. She looked over at her Hand. He knew more about Westeros than anyone she’d ever met, so she deferred to him. “How long will this last?” she asked, barely working to keep the distaste from her tone. 

There was a delay before he answered, while Tyrion appraised the Queen, checking to see how his words would be received. “All day, well into the dark,” he confessed. 

“And I must attend?” she verified, already knowing his reply. 

“You must.”

“Will there be wine?” 

“There will be,” Tyrion promised with a smile. Daenerys didn’t know if it was her attitude that amused him or the thought of expensive alcohol, either way she didn’t begrudge him his happiness. She’d been in a foul mood for days and Tyrion more than anyone else had been forced to deal with the brunt of her anger. Logically she knew it wasn’t his fault she was struggling with the task of being Queen. Unfortunately, logic was the first thing she forgot when her blood boiled, over one ridiculous custom or another. 

“Good,” she said, trying to match his expression with a smile of her own. It felt strange on her face and was sure it looked equally odd. “I’m going to need it.” 

R-C

The potential for rain wasn’t enough to keep the crowds away. Daenerys had issued more than one hundred approvals for merchants to sell their goods on the grounds of the tourney. Many of those who couldn’t afford the fee set up along the edges, hoping to capitalize on the huge number of visitors. 

With a fake smile etched onto her face Daenerys dismounted her horse. Jorah joined her quickly, as he always did. His constant presence was becoming more of a nuisance than a comfort these days, although she held her tongue. He was just looking out for her, even if she was too annoyed to fully appreciate it. 

The guards she brought with her split into two groups. Half would follow her to the raised platform where she was meant to watch the day’s festivities and the others would mix into the crowds, keeping the smallfolk safe.

She didn’t have to ask which seat was meant for her. There was one platform in the center of all the others that was significantly higher. As she began to climb, she wondered idly what it was about the powerful that made them think being higher up was better? The pyramid had been the same. She suspected the seat reserved for her would be better occupied by someone who might appreciate what they were watching. 

The extravagant and opulent arrangement she found waiting nearly turned her stomach. Food was set out on golden trays, more than all ten of them could eat in days. There were no fewer than four serving girls waiting to tend to her small party and the seats were finely crafted with thick padding. It just seemed like such a waste. Paying debts to the Iron Bank on behalf of the two rulers that came before her had drained the majority of the treasury. In the Queen’s humble opinion what little remained needed to be spent on aiding the people, bettering their lives and not on meaningless brutish sport. She noted the large Targaryen banner hanging behind her chair. Not long after she was comfortable, she was offered her first drink. She took it gladly. It was going to be a long day. 

Her lack of enthusiasm was not shared by all those around her. When the games began, she saw several of the Dothraki and Unsullied inching closer to the side in hopes of getting a better view. Like her, Missandei had little interest in combat, but she did seem to be enjoying a conversation with one of the girl’s serving their food. Tyrion had taken his wine and escaped almost immediately, claiming he needed to go and speak to someone. Daenerys didn’t try to stop him, he was free to speak with whoever he wanted as long as he didn’t try and drag her along. Varys too insisted there were people he needed to find and quickly excused himself. 

Able to feel the eyes on her she played her part. She clapped and smiled at the appropriate times and waved when the crier mentioned her. After hours that felt more like days an intermission was declared and Missandei stood beside her. “Would you like to stretch your legs, your Grace?” 

“Just for a few minutes,” she decided. 

Down below, merchants sold everything one could imagine from snacks to expensive trinkets. The most popular tables were lined with swords, maces, daggers and the like. Daenerys noticed the eyes of her guards flickering to those tables more than the rest. They weren’t the only ones, there were long lines, just waiting to inch their way up to the merchandise. She leaned closer to Missandei and smiled sincerely. “Boys and their toys,” she whispered, rolling her violet eyes. 

They giggled together and walked around the corner without concern for where they were heading. “Not only boys,” Missandei commented. 

Daenerys had been distracted by a pair of children kicking a worn ball back and forth. Turning to Missandei she followed her gaze to another stand of finely crafted weaponry. There in the midst of a pushing, yelling crowd of men was a single woman. Daenerys’s heart picked up speed in her chest. She blinked hard twice just to confirm it wasn’t a trick. “Arya!” she said more to herself than anyone nearby. 

Missandei stopped walking when the Queen did. “Do you know her, your Grace?” 

If anyone else asked, she might have lied but with Missandei, she didn’t feel the need. Her friend could keep her secrets. If there was one person in her life as Queen Daenerys could trust with the truth, it would be Missandei. She took hold of the younger woman’s arm, waved away her guards to get some extra space and confessed. “I do.” 

She wanted to run right over but knew that wouldn’t be well received. Not with a contingent of guards trailing after her. She also had to be careful how much Jorah overheard, lest he learn the details of the nature of her relationship with Arya. Every second felt longer than it was as she tried to plot her next move. She definitely wanted to speak to the dark-haired woman but had to tread carefully. 

Loud voices drew her focus for a moment and Daenerys saw an opening. Nearby drunken men were arguing loudly while a young lady was trapped between them. When the shoving began Daenerys had seen enough. “Go and help her!” she demanded of Grey Worm. 

As her commander and several of his men went to do as she wished, she turned to Missandei. “Why don’t you go back to our seats, and I’ll join you in a few moments.” 

She could see the questions in her dark eyes but Missandei voiced none of them. With a nod, she headed toward the platform. Since the Unsullied were busy, she ordered the Blood Riders to escort Missandei. This left Daenerys with only three shadows. “I want to look at something over here,” she said as she took off in the opposite direction of where she really wanted to go. Her intent was to loop around and catch Arya before her guards could catch up. She didn’t know what she’d say, or how long they’d have, but she hoped she’d feel as bold and brave as she had the night they met. That night she’d known what she wanted, and she’d gone after it. Was it the rum or Arya that brought those traits out in her? 

She intentionally worked her way through the thickest, busiest parts of the audience, hoping to delay her pursuers as they tried to keep pace. She picked up the hem of her dress, so she could walk faster. She felt younger, freer and more relaxed than she had in ages. Her happiness plummeted however when she reached the corner of the table where she’d first seen Arya. The crowd remained but the woman was gone. Her head whipped around, and she lifted up onto her toes, craning her neck to try and catch a glimpse of her somewhere. 

She wandered aimlessly, hoping to bump into the scarred woman as unexpectedly as she had the last time. It didn’t seem the Gods were on her side. She could hear Jorah calling out for her to slow down. It wouldn’t be long now. 

She gravitated toward the drunkest of the lot, hoping their vision would be too clouded to recognize her. While she was hiding in the center of a large group of intoxicated tourney-lovers a strong, warm hand gripped her arm from behind. She spun on her heel, fully intending to free her arm and demand an apology but her fury melted away when she found herself staring into a pair of bottomless steel-colored eyes, the same ones she’d been seeing in her dreams. “Arya,” she finally said, hating the way her voice squeaked just a little bit. 

Any hope Arya hadn’t noticed disappeared when she saw that telltale smirk. “Dany,” she countered, clearly enjoying the reaction she caused. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Enjoying the tournament, same as you.” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” the Queen asked with a large helping of sarcasm. 

“Not having a good time?” Arya inquired. 

She thought about the answer. She hadn’t been enjoying herself until recently but perhaps things were beginning to improve. She opened her mouth to try and explain in a charming way, but her words were halted by the sight of a middle-aged man with a thick beard staring at her in shock. Only then did she look around them and see they had a very interested audience. 

Jorah yelled out for her again and Daenerys felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Couldn’t she have just a few minutes for herself? She could understand the surprise those strangers must feel, talking amongst themselves, enjoying the games and a drink only to look up and see the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms less than a stone’s throw away. 

“They are looking for you,” Arya acknowledged, without taking her eyes off Daenerys. 

“Unfortunately,” she said, certain her contempt was bleeding through. 

“They work for you,” Arya reminded her. “If you don’t want them around, send them away.” 

If only it were really that easy. Arya’s smile was gone, replaced now by a serious expression. “It doesn’t work like that,” she said bitterly. 

Arya’s hand, which was still on Daenerys’s forearm, slid down to her wrist and then their hands met. “It can work like that,” she informed her, “if you want it to. You’re in charge, after all.” 

Reality was nearly upon her. She could hear Jorah’s voice, getting louder and louder as he neared his prize. She was struck by an overwhelming desire to grab Arya and run. Somehow, she made it seem so simple, like she could really send Jorah away and enjoy a few moments alone with Arya. If only her life was so accommodating. “I wish…” she started. 

It happened unexpectedly, Arya tugging on their joined hands and pulling Daenerys along. She went willingly, through one crowd, then the next. More than once she opened her mouth ask where Arya was taking her, until it occurred to her that she didn’t care. Wherever it was, she’d go. 

When they stopped, they were on the opposite side of the field from where they began. Arya cut through the sea of people easily, moving quickly while somehow making sure Daenerys could keep up. The Queen heard laughter and with a start realized it was coming from her. So far away from where she’d told Jorah she was going, she knew it would be a while before anyone found them, that suited her just fine. 

A horn announced the start of a new round of games. Arya turned to the combatants while Daenerys was far too busy watching Arya to be concerned with the match. When the crier began introducing the fighters, Arya’s eyes shifted back to Daenerys. They stood there in the crowd, looking into each other’s eyes for a long moment. The young woman was more beautiful than Daenerys remembered. Like the night they met, she wore a simple pair of dark pants and a shirt, this time faded red in color. “Not having a good time?” Arya asked again. 

“This isn’t my favorite day of the year,” Daenerys admitted, speaking the unaltered truth for the first time without shame. “I’ve seen enough war, watching more doesn’t interest me.” 

Grey eyes rolled indulgently, and Arya pointed toward the platform where Missandei stood with an Unsullied on each side. She was looking at the crowd below, clearly searching for Daenerys and the Queen was struck with guilt. She didn’t mean for Missandei to worry, but she wasn’t ready to go back just yet either. “You can’t see shit from up there,” Arya declared confidently. 

Although she didn’t do it intentionally, she bristled under Arya’s criticism. It was still strange for someone to speak to her so crudely. “That platform was raised to provide me with the best view possible,” she defended half heartedly. 

Arya was trying not to show her amusement and failing. “That platform is so the people can see you, not the other way around,” she corrected. 

“You can see everything!” Daenerys assured her. 

Arya shrugged. “Sure, you can see it,” she allowed, emphasizing the word ‘see’, “but down here you can feel it. Up there you’re missing all the best parts.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “I don’t want to feel anything,” she said as steel met steel on the field for the first time. All around them the crowd roared but that wasn’t what had Daenerys’s nerves standing on end. Firm, calloused hands Dany remembered well gripped the Queen’s small frame and turned her toward the action. She sputtered out a question, asking what Arya was doing, but she got no reply. Before she could object further Arya moved into place behind her and wrapped her arms around Daenerys’s middle in a hug. She felt the taller woman’s breath on her face and neck as she leaned over Daenerys’s shoulder. Her body temperature climbed higher and for once it had nothing to do with her Targaryen bloodline. As an added bonus they were at the front of a large group. With Arya shielding her from behind, she’d be almost entirely hidden. 

“Watch!” Arya instructed, and Daenerys was powerless to resist. On the field was a melee match. The two fighters were opposites. One big and strong with plate armor and a mace while his opponent was lighter, shorter and protected by leather. He held a sword in his right hand and a shield in his left. The shield’s marking told her he was from a House in the Riverlands. 

The sword struck the breastplate hard but not enough to get through. By contrast each time the bigger man swung his mace his opponent’s shield rattled so loudly it echoed in Daenerys’s ears. It was a testament to the craftsman who made it that it didn’t break. As if she could read Daenerys’s thoughts, Arya chose that moment to taunt her. “Can’t experience all this, from up there, can you?” she teased, looking dismissively toward the Queen’s platform. 

“No, you can’t,” she admitted as she watched the man with the sword take one swing and then another, only to have the bigger man avoid them in turn. Behind her, she felt movement and she wasn’t sure what it was. Over time Daenerys realized Arya was tensing ever so slightly with each potential blow. Twice when her eyes were on the match, she thought she heard Arya say something, but each time Daenerys peeked over her shoulder she found the taller woman bound to the action and very clearly not interested in speaking. 

On the field, the man with the shield and sword had used his superior speed to damage his opponent’s leg. The big man was struggling to chase his prey and Daenerys predicted the match would end soon with the sword-wielding warrior advancing to the next round. Cries for the head of the bigger man were equal in number to the shouters that wanted him to rise despite his wound and win. Daenerys had never considered until right then how no matter the outcome, half of the witnesses were going to be unhappy. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by another fluttering of Arya’s lips on her ear. This time she didn’t turn, she just focused on Arya and tried to block out everything else. If her ears were to believed Arya was repeatedly muttering, “Don’t do it.” 

Hoping for insight, Daenerys stared intently at the field. The big man with the mace had succumbed to his injury and was down on one knee, while his opponent neared. Deciding it was no longer necessary the fighter with the sword dropped his shield. The onlookers around her held their collective breath as he raised his sword for the final time, all except Arya who shook her head against Daenerys’s shoulder. “Fucking fool,” she complained in disgust. 

She had to wonder if Arya was watching the same match as everyone else. All the sudden the fighters came together. Arya’s lips were moving again, and this time Daenerys heard every word without effort. “Punch to the ribs, bull-rush, squeeze his throat.” 

She doubted it was intentional. It seemed more likely that Arya was thinking and allowing the occasional word to slip out. On the field, to the amazement of many, none more so than the Queen, it happened just like Arya foretold. Before the sword could be pressed against his neck the big man punched his opponent in the ribs hard enough to stagger him through the thin armor and take his air. Unable to stand he used his massive weight and launched himself at the smaller man. They fell to the ground together and scrambled, each one trying to get the upper hand. It was hard to see much else in the chaos that followed. When it was done the big man with the injured leg sat on top of the swordsman, both of his thick hands wrapped around his neck. 

She’d been present for every victory since the day began but it was entirely different hearing it now. In the cage of Arya’s arms, so close to the people she led, she could feel their approval and disappointment. She was a part of it with them. 

While they prepared for the next match Daenerys turned around, without breaking Arya’s hold on her. “How did you do that!?” she asked more accusatorily than she meant to. 

Arya had been smiling but her expression changed to a blank, empty one upon hearing Daenerys’s critique. “Do what?” 

“You knew what was going to happen, you said it and then it came to be, exactly.” She worked to keep her voice softer, but by the end she was growing loud again. If she hadn’t seen it herself, she would scarcely believe it. 

The taller woman shrugged. “It was obvious, wasn’t it?”

Was it? She didn’t think so. Looking around their conversation was private. No one was nodding their support to Arya’s claim, no one was looking at them at all, actually. She was just a woman in the crowd like any other, and she loved it. “Only to you,” Daenerys retorted with a smile. “How did you know what was going to happen?”

She shrugged again as she said. “I just know what I would have done.”

She wasn’t quite ready to let this go. “The man with the mace was wounded and down, how could you possibly think he was going to win?”

“He wasn’t going to win,” Arya decreed. “If his opponent kept his shield, he would have had it to block the punch, but like an arrogant ass he gave away his advantage and it cost him the match.”

Daenerys had spent enough time with soldiers to know that battle was more than just swinging a sword or firing an arrow. Still she’d never encountered anyone who could dissect it the way Arya was doing so casually. 

When the crier announced the next round of fighters Daenerys pinned Arya with a challenging glare. “Do it again!” she commanded. 

“What’s in it for me?” Arya pressed back, without hesitation. 

She didn’t even need to think. “Dinner, with me, if you’re right.”

“You and your guards?” 

It was a joke. Daenerys took it seriously. She suspected Arya wouldn’t have mentioned the guards at all if they weren’t an issue for her. They’d reached a crossroads. Would she insist the guards be present and risk Arya declining the offer, or would she keep the guards away and make Arya as comfortable as possible during her first visit to Dany’s home? She chose her path quickly. If a night without guards was what it took for Arya to join her then so be it. “No guards, no Queens, no business of the Realm, just…”

Arya understood completely. “Just us,” she said, finding words for what Daenerys had been unable to say. 

“Yes.”

“What if I’m wrong and you win?” Arya wondered, although her tone made it known she wasn’t particularly worried that might happen. 

Having expected some version of that question, she had her reply ready. “Then you take me to dinner instead.”

“What if I don’t want to have dinner with you?”

Daenerys’s heart felt like it was suddenly in her throat, blocking all the witty remarks she planned to say next. In the end her voice was raw, and her message limited to two shaking words. “You do.” 

Without contradicting her Arya’s eyes turned to the match and Daenerys rotated to do the same. When they introduced the second man, she felt Arya chuckle as it rippled out her chest and into Daenerys’s back. She studied the man that elicited the reaction. He was relatively young, older than Arya, tall and thin with a strap of hair on his chin. He had his sword out and ready. The major difference from the last match as far as Daenerys could see was the quiver of arrows on his back. It took time, but she picked out the bow in the center of the space, partially concealed by the grass. One bow for the two fighters. In addition to the man, there was his challenger. He was older with greying hair and skin that reminded Daenerys of leather. “A fight of archers?” she guessed. 

“Don’t know the older one,” Arya said as all the final bets were placed, “but whoever he is, he’s going to lose if he doesn’t get to the bow first.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t need it,” Daenerys said, if for no other reason than to keep Arya talking. She was comfortable in her company and was enjoying the way she and Arya could speak as equals. 

“All the better, he should still run straight for it and cut the string.”

“Why?” she asked. It was hard for the Queen to comprehend a strategy that encouraged attacking the bow and not the man. 

“Anguy can’t fight for shit. He’d be gutted for sure in a match of swordsmen but put that bow in his hand and I’d pick him over most of your Dothraki.”

“He’s that good?” Daenerys verified, trying to see the man with clear eyes, the way Arya was. “Do you know him?”

“I did once, a long time ago.” 

The conversation stalled as the match began. The older man, more skilled with a sword than his younger counterpart, rushed to end the fight early. He placed himself between Anguy and the bow while working to keep him back. After a near miss that could have severed the archer’s arm at the shoulder, Arya spoke up. This time she was talking to Daenerys directly and not muttering comments to herself. “It’s over,” she decided. 

Daenerys saw nothing that would lead her to believe that was true. “What!? How can you…”

“His eyes,” Arya explained without looking away from the violence. “He saw his opening when the old guy took that big swing. Next time he tries that, Anguy’s going to slip under the strike and go for the bow, and then it’s over.”

She was learning not to doubt Arya on the subject, but the game between them would be more compelling if she opposed Arya’s stance. “Horseshit. Two dinners say you’re wrong.” 

For the next two minutes Daenerys thought she was going to be proven right. Anguy did nothing more than block every attempt, making no move on the bow. Then the older man stepped back, squared his shoulders and put both hands on the sword. Even to a novice like Daenerys she knew what it meant. He was preparing for a big attack. “Now,” Arya said with her lips pressed tight to Daenerys’s ear. She shivered as she fought to keep her eyes on the action and not the glorious woman pressed against her. The blade came down so fast Anguy nearly didn’t get out of the way. At the last second, he did, ducking down and then popping up when it was safe. The old man’s momentum carried him past where Anguy had been and left a path to the bow open. He took it. The speed with which he loosed the first arrow was unsettling. In truth, she saw little more than a blur until it hit its mark. It was impossible to miss that given the scream that accompanied it. He pierced the grey-haired man’s hand, forcing him to drop his sword. The second arrow was much the same, except it was aimed at his foot. This Anguy whoever he was, was every bit as good as Arya said. Since Daenerys wouldn’t allow men to fight to the death to honor her, Anguy slung the bow over his shoulder, picked up his discarded sword and held it to his opponent’s throat to claim the win. 

“Very impressive,” Daenerys said as she turned to give her entire focus to Arya. “Looks as though I owe you dinner.”

Arya’s smug grin was so damn cute it made Daenerys ache to kiss her. “I would suggest we keep playing, but you’d only keep losing. If you want to have dinner without me sometime in the next month, I think you should probably quit while your debts are manageable.”

There was an undercurrent of humor, of teasing in Arya’s voice that reminded her of that night in the tavern. “Maybe I’ve been losing on purpose, did you ever consider that?”

Arya rewarded her with a laugh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

“Come to the keep for dinner tomorrow,” Daenerys proposed in a low voice, making sure their exchange stayed private. 

For the first time since they met Arya looked utterly uncomfortable. It was even worse than when she misinterpreted Daenerys’s reaction to her scars. “The Red Keep isn’t really my kind of place.”

The real world chose then to remind them it existed. The crier read off the victors for the most recent rounds and then proclaimed that all the winners would get a brief meeting with the Queen. Daenerys cursed under her breath. She definitely did not agree to that. Only one person would make such an arrangement without her prior consent, Tyrion 

“Looks like you’re needed elsewhere,” Arya said. There was no malice, no trying to make Daenerys feel bad, nothing other than the stating of a fact. 

“They can wait!” she answered back in that same way, just another fact between them. 

“Dany…”

She closed her eyes and savoured the sound of someone calling her Dany. Not Daenerys, Your Grace, or Khaleesi, Dany. “Dinner tomorrow?” she tried again, without opening her eyes. 

“Your friends are coming,” Arya warned. Fuck them! All day, every day she did things for other people. It was time she did something for herself and what she wanted was to have dinner with Arya.

“Let them come,” she said crossing her arms over her chest in a show of defiance. “Have dinner with me.”

“The Red Keep….”

“I know, it’s not your kind of place,” Daenerys finished for her, their time was too short to let her finish at her own speed. “It’s not mine either to be honest, but I’ll make you a deal, just once. One meal, one time and if you hate it, I’ll never ask you to come back.”

“I’m not having dinner in the Hall, with all your advisors and court gossips watching,” Arya insisted. 

Daenerys felt the smile curling her lip. They were getting somewhere now. “Agreed. A private room, no guards, just you, me and the staff.”

She knew her misstep when Arya scoffed and rolled her stormy eyes. “Your staff, are you serious? Can’t get through a single meal without someone cutting your food into bite size pieces for you?” Arya ridiculed. “Give them the night off, I’m sure we can survive without them. If you need someone to open your wine, I’ll do it.” 

Daenerys’s emotions were at war with one another. She wanted to be angry and she was, but not nearly as angry as she thought she should be. No one dared speak to her that way. No one except Arya apparently. She’d mocked Daenerys’s life of privilege and then in the same breath was kind and tender, saying she’d tend to Daenerys’s needs personally. The woman was a walking contradiction. She was having trouble keeping up. 

“Fine,” she hurried ahead, “no servants, just us. Would that be agreeable?”

“What time?”

She looked at the sky. The sun was in the process of setting, coloring the rare spots that weren’t blocked by clouds. “Around this time?” Daenerys proposed. She usually worked on affairs of the Realm until much later but for Arya she’d make an exception. 

“Agreed.” With Arya’s acceptance she felt a sharp bite of disappointment knowing they were going to separate. To her delight, Arya wasn’t done. “In the Red Keep, on the third floor, not far from the library on the East side. There is a long hallway with three doors.”

How did Arya know this? Why did it matter? She tried to think back, to recall her last trip to the library and the route she took to get there. “And?”

“Through the middle door. That’s where I want to have dinner.”

It didn’t feel unnatural letting Arya have her way. Odd as the request was, Daenerys would serve the meal on the roof if it’s what got her more time alone with this mysterious creature. “I’ll make sure everything is exactly as you requested.” 

“Good,” Arya said, giving her a full smile, rather than the smirk. “I’ll see you then.” The air between them was charged and it had Daenerys debating if she could get away with kissing her. The choice was made for her when Arya leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was a feather light touch, very close to her ear. “Time for me to go,” she said in a soft whisper. 

She nearly fell when the person she’d been leaning on was inexplicably absent. She turned in a wide arc searching for the attractive woman in men’s clothes. How did she do that? Arya was lost to her but Jorah and a pair of Dothraki were plainly visible. His every emotion was etched on his face, from relief at finding her, to the annoyance he felt being made to hunt her down. “There you are!”

He took hold of her arm, not unlike how Arya had. This time it felt all together different -- wrong. She broke free. “I’m fine, I was never in any danger.”

“It’s my job to protect you and I can’t do that if you insist on running away.”

“I didn’t run away,” she lied. “I was looking at something and then the matches started so I went to get a good view at the rail.”

Her words sounded plausible, and her delivery was confident, unfortunately Jorah knew her well. “You hate events like this. You didn’t even want to come.”

She smiled brightly. “Sometimes things work out better than you expected.” That was certainly true. 

“The winner of this morning’s joust is due to meet with you any minute.” 

“And who decided I would meet with all the winners?” she asked as she started walking toward the platform. As they moved, she kept an eye out for Arya, even though she knew it was unlikely the commoner would place herself in Daenerys’s path while she was surrounded by her guards. 

“It’s customary,” Jorah told her. “They risked their necks to honor you.”

A few minutes away from Arya and the bitterness she felt so often of late was back in full force. “I didn’t ask them to, I didn’t want any of this.”

“It was for them too,” Jorah said, waving his large hand out over the crowds. “They fought two wars and had to wait patiently while large sections of the city were rebuilt. As much as you hate all of this, they need it, to remind them that being part of the Seven Kingdoms, serving the Realm in whatever way they do, is important.” 

She hadn’t thought about it that way. She was willing to concede that the wars she fought to secure the throne cost the people she governed dearly. Thousands lost loved ones, countless more were maimed. Whole villages were razed, entire farms turned to ash. Every day since defeating Cersei she tried to make up for all that, but it never seemed like enough. She feared it never would be. What could she possibly do, that would make everything the people have been through tolerable?

She thought back to her time with Arya, standing in the crowd, pretending to be just another woman. She recalled the way they’d cheer, the laughter, the drinking, the obvious fun they were having. Maybe Jorah was right. Maybe the people did need this. If they did, she would give it to them. 

As they arrived a new idea formed in her mind. Traditionally these meetings were brief and formal. Daenerys wanted to do something different. The people who won deserved something more than the small purse of prize money and whatever they earned by betting on their own matches. As Queen, she owed them more. 

That was why Daenerys decreed that the village, town or city the winner came from would receive additional supplies from the royal stores. She spoke with each man at length and asked them about their homes, their families, doing what she could to learn what they needed most. For one man it was grain, since all the farms in his area had been burned by either Daenerys’s dragons or Cersei’s sell-swords. Another said most of their cattle had been stolen by bandits. Daenerys pledged a few animals would be sent right away, as well as Unsullied who would hunt the bandits and return everything stolen to its rightful owners. 

Tyrion returned at some point, saying nothing as he listened to the Queen work. They remained like that for the rest of the day, meeting all of the victors and even some of the losers. Everyone knelt upon being introduced but that was the extent of the formality. Daenerys didn’t care about etiquette. She was much more interested in improving their lives. 

Much later on, as they travelled home Tyrion finally asked, “What brought that on?”

In her mind she thought of Arya. Arya who didn’t see any reason she couldn’t just send her guards away if she wanted to, Arya who taught her that the view from the ground was different from the view up top. In short, they had Arya to thank for Daenerys’s change in leadership style. “From now on, I want things more like that,” she decided hastily. “Less formal, more getting people what they actually need.”

Jorah spoke up on her other side. “The winners already got purses from the treasury. You didn’t need to give them more.”

“The winners get gold, but what about all the people who came to see their favorites, or to support someone?”

“Giving the rewards you promised might prove difficult,” Varys said, speaking up for the first time. She hadn’t known he’d been there. 

“Get it done!” she commanded, looking at the three men in turn, Tyrion first, then Jorah and finally the Spider. “If I hear of one man being shortchanged, it’ll be Drogon who gets an unexpected reward.”

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: So, as you can see, something compelled me to try and continue this. There is a distinct possibility it’ll be a grand failure since it’s going to focus largely on Dany and Arya’s relationship without much murder, mayhem or war until later chapters. Fair warning to those willing to give this story a shot, Daenerys is not going to learn who Arya is for a while. I meant for it to happen sooner but had way too much fun writing Daenerys’s internal conflict being Queen. She is after all the Mad King’s daughter. I kept coming up with more to add before the big reveal. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter was so long, I had a lot to get in there before Daenerys and Arya could see each other again. It felt wrong to cut it off before Daenerys found her. 
> 
> Until Chapter Three… Happy Holidays. 
> 
> RC


	3. Chapter 3

The day couldn’t be over soon enough. She woke with the sun and tried to get things accomplished. She thought of Arya far more than any of the contracts she signed or the disputes she settled. More than one person noticed her smile and commented. Jorah told her she looked beautiful, Tyrion questioned what changed overnight and Missandei said it was nice to see the Queen happy. Daenerys responded that the fresh air the day before had done her good. She didn’t linger long enough for any of the men to pose any additional questions. 

When Missandei brought her tea just after midday Daenerys was desperate to talk with someone about her chaotic feelings. She’d wanted to do this alone, to keep Arya separate from her work. Now that Arya would be arriving in a few hours, she’d need help to get everything ready. If her secrets were safe with anyone it would be Missandei. She sat down took a sip of her tea and motioned for Missandei to join her. “I ran into Arya yesterday, when I disappeared from the tourney.” 

The advisor was one of the most intelligent people Daenerys had ever known and she didn’t need any help putting the pieces together. “The woman you saw when we were walking the field?”

A quick glance made sure their conversation wouldn’t be overheard and then Daenerys set down her tea and leaned closer, so they could whisper more easily. “I met her at a tavern on the night I left King’s Landing.”

Again, Missandei understood right away. Her vanishing was infamous among those closest to Daenerys. “She seems nice,” Missandei supplied. Daenerys couldn’t help but grin. Missandei had seen only a fleeting glance of the woman, had never said a word to her, but she was forever the loyal and supportive friend. 

“I just needed to get away,” the Queen confessed, “to go somewhere where no one knew who I was.”

“And you met Arya,” Missandei summarized. 

She went back in her mind and her smile only grew. “I met Arya,” she confirmed. “She bought me a drink and we talked, not as Queen and subject, but women.” 

A knowing smile crept across Missandei’s beautiful face. “Did she see Jorah and the others searching for you yesterday?” 

“She did, I never would have been able to stay hidden from them for so long without Arya’s help.”

“She helped you hide?” she verified with a hint of skepticism. “Why would she do that?”

Daenerys was sure she was grinning like a fool. “She knew I didn’t want them to find me, so she made sure they didn’t.” As she remembered, her heart raced just as it had when she’d followed Arya blindly. 

“How did she take the news you were Queen?”

She couldn’t help it, Daenerys chuckled. “She always knew, right from the start.” She shook her head as she thought of Arya. “She recognized me right away but didn’t let on until…”

She stopped short of confessing they’d gone to bed together, even though she knew her friend wouldn’t judge her for it. A part of her wanted to keep Arya all to herself but she knew that would be impossible. Especially now that it was going to be more than just one night. 

“Until?” Missandei prompted. 

“The next morning,” Daenerys said feeling her face heat up. “I was getting dressed and she called me Daenerys, and not Dany.” 

When Missandei laughed Daenerys joined her. “That must have been a shock.”

That was an understatement. “I wanted to be mad, but I didn’t stay that way for long.”

“Why not?” Missandei asked, cutting right to the heart of it. 

“Because, whether she knew it or not, by allowing me to pretend I was just another woman she gave me exactly what I needed. For a few hours no one looked to me to solve their problems or decide the fates of thousands. For a few hours I didn’t have to be Queen.” 

Daenerys sipped her tea and thought about how much more she wanted to share. “I tried to find her after that night. I went back to the tavern and they told me she was gone. I didn’t know where else to look, so I came back here.”

“And you were upset,” Missandei noted accurately. She appreciated how her friend minimized just how horrible her mood had been. 

“I was, I didn’t think I’d ever see her again and then yesterday at the games.” 

Missandei put a comforting hand on Daenerys’s arm. “I’m glad you got to see her.”

The moment of truth had come. If she was going to get everything ready for her dinner, she’d need Missandei’s help. “We wagered on the outcome of the melee.”

“Did you win?”

Daenerys wasn’t sure how to answer. Arya had definitely won, yet Daenerys didn’t feel like she’d lost at all. “I promised to have dinner with her if she could predict the outcome and she did,” she explained. 

“And what if you had won?” Missandei inquired. 

Daenerys smiled wide. “Then she would have had to take me to dinner.” 

“Very clever, your Grace,” the advisor praised. Missandei enjoyed a laugh at the playful sport she and Arya engaged in before she brought up the one thing Daenerys had been trying not to think about. “Are you nervous?”

She took another sip until she couldn’t avoid the innocent question any longer. “More than I should be. It’s just dinner.”

As was becoming custom, Missandei was there to comfort and reassure her. “How can I help?”

“I promised Arya no guards, no servants, just us.”

“Do the others know?”

Daenerys knew exactly who she meant. “No, I haven’t told anyone except you.”

“I can make up a reason for your absence,” she offered kindly. “It might be enough to satisfy most questions.” 

She almost accepted Missandei’s generous offer, then Arya’s words from the day before repeated in her ears. She was right. Daenerys was the Queen and her men would follow her orders, or they would be useless to her. 

“Don’t lie for me,” Daenerys decided, giving Missandei a look that made it clear she appreciated the thought. “No one will find me where I’m going, and if they do, they are just going to have to wait. I’m going to enjoy my dinner with my friend and anyone with any urgent business can stand outside the door until we’re finished.” 

Missandei found humor in the seriousness of Daenerys’s declaration. “If you don’t want the guards, send them away, the Unsullied will obey you.” 

Daenerys knew she was right, but she also knew as Missandei did that the Unsullied weren’t the issue. The Dothraki and the Unsullied would give her space, her Hand and her knight might be less willing to accommodate her sudden desire for personal space. “I’m giving everyone the night off!” she announced without much forethought. 

“Everyone?”

“I’ll need some guards to patrol the perimeter, a couple at each gate,” Daenerys allowed, “but the staff is owed a rest. Spread the word that after dinner is served everyone is free to do as they wish.” 

“Are you sure that’s best?”

“I’ll be doing what I want,” Daenerys justified, “I shouldn’t be the only one.” She looked to her friend and smiled wickedly. “I’m sure you and Grey Worm could find something to fill the hours.” 

Missandei looked down at her lap shyly. “I think we could, your Grace.” 

R-C

Daenerys had been nervous before many times, although never quite like this. She thought back to the day she wed the Khal, she’d been terrified that day, a scared girl who knew next to nothing about the world. That wasn’t the same sensation that shook her now. She didn’t fear Arya the way she had Drogo at first, her welfare was secure in Arya’s company, now she feared disappointing her. Unlike every person she’d been with since Drogo’s death, Arya wouldn’t be impressed by a golden plate with a carving of a three headed dragon. She wouldn’t be awed by drinking glasses with expensive stones attached. A line of servants waiting to do their bidding wouldn’t make Arya relax and enjoy her meal. Preparing for a night so different from what was typical, had her in a near panic. What if Arya didn’t like what she arranged? 

She held up a flawless dress in front of her for the third time and checked her reflection in the mirror. The bright red silk was gorgeous, but Daenerys still struggled to decide if it was appropriate. She couldn’t explain it, but she got the distinct impression that getting Arya to agree to join her in the keep was significant. It sounded important to Arya and if it was important to her, then it was important to Daenerys. 

Her large bed was littered with the dresses she’d already dismissed. All the colors of the rainbow were there taunting her. She’d begun with a full closet and high hopes, now she was nearing the end, in both possibilities and patience. How could it be that in all those dresses, none were right? 

Despite her lack of progress in the arena of her clothing, not everything was so difficult. After two trips to the kitchen she was confident they had everything they needed to prepare the meal she had requested for her and Arya. Then while Tyrion was expecting her in the Hand’s Tower Daenerys snuck away to the room Arya selected. She’d been on a tour of the Red Keep shortly after she took King’s Landing. Tyrion and a handful of the servants took her around to every corner of the castle, showing her every room. She was sure they’d shown her this one too, but she couldn’t remember it. There was little special about it in all honesty, except that Arya had chosen it. A simple sitting room, far away from the main hall and the throne room. The walls were lined with shelves and the room had a large window that provided plenty of light. It was obvious that the room was meant to be a quiet refuge, near the library, a place where one could take a book and read without interruptions. 

As she made her way from one meeting to the next, her route always took her back to that hallway near the library to check how things were coming along. She smiled from the hall when she saw Missandei directing three servants. The table was in place and was being decorated. Under Missandei’s guidance Daenerys had no doubt the end result would be exactly what Daenerys imagined. 

It crossed her mind as it came closer to sunset, that she still wasn’t clear on how Arya knew of the room’s existence. It was possible, Dany supposed that her friend had been inside the Red Keep before, but she was at a loss to imagine a scenario where someone like Arya was welcomed into the Queen’s castle by Cersei Lannister. 

Now if only she could decide what she’d wear, she could style her hair and wait anxiously for Arya’s arrival. She regretted that she couldn’t meet her companion at the gate and bring her into the keep alone. She’d promised Arya no guards and she meant it, she’d send them away as soon as Arya was brought to her. 

She hadn’t realized Missandei was there until she heard her voice. “The red one is nice,” she confirmed. 

“I’m not certain…” Daenerys began, wavering as she had so many times before. 

“What did you wear the night you met?” Missandei wondered. 

“A dress, silver I think it was.”

“Did Arya like it?” Missandei asked standing at the bed, looking at the dresses Daenerys had tossed aside carelessly. 

In spite of her nerves or perhaps because of them Daenerys barked out a laugh. She couldn’t imagine Arya commenting on her clothes one way or the other. It didn’t seem like her. “I don’t think she noticed.”

“She didn’t notice?” Missandei repeated in disbelief. “You took her to bed, surely she told you that you looked nice?” She posed it as a question and as she waited for the answer Daenerys saw a flicker of horror pass over Missandei’s face. She was a great friend, one who wouldn’t be able to fathom any lover of Daenerys’s not addressing her beauty directly. 

She let the silence hang between them longer than she should have, just to make Missandei wonder, then she put her mind at ease. “Oh, she told me I was beautiful many times, she just never mentioned the dress.”

The advisor visibly relaxed. “That’s better, I think,” she acknowledged. 

She remembered how Arya had stared at her once her dress came off, the way she touched her and couldn’t peel her eyes away. “Yes, it’s much better,” she agreed. 

R-C

Missandei had outdone herself. In the sitting room she’d placed a table with a plain white covering. It was set for two with no lavish embellishments or royal markings. In addition to the dishes there was only a small bundle of fresh flowers in the center and a pair of lit candles. 

A padded bench large enough to hold six comfortably, was under the window. More candles and wine were waiting there as if Missandei anticipated their dinner to move from the table to the bench after they’d eaten. Daenerys privately hoped she was right. 

The room had a romantic appeal to it, without being overbearing or extreme. It was exactly what Daenerys wanted and she promised herself she’d find a way to thank Missandei for her efforts later. Now she needed to get downstairs because it wouldn’t be long before Arya made her appearance. 

R-C

Not surprisingly word spread quickly that Daenerys had given everyone the night off. Daenerys was trying not to fuss over her dress or hair anymore than she already had. In the end she wore the red dress Missandei approved of. Before she left, she offered to braid Daenerys’s hair, but the Queen politely declined. Arya wouldn’t be impressed by an intricate hairstyle, so she chose to wear it down, letting the silver hang past her shoulders without pins or bands or anything of the kind. 

“You gave everyone the night off?” Jorah asked loudly. He was coming down the hall, walking toward her, talking all the way. His steps became heavier and his words louder the closer he got to the Queen. “Why?” he asked bluntly when he was standing right in front of her. 

Off to the side Tyrion was speaking to the Master of Coin but she could see they subtly shifted toward her in hopes of learning the answer. “We all need a break,” she said simply, “The Gods know I do too.” 

“What if you need something?” he resisted. 

“I’m sure I can tend to myself for a single night. The staff works hard, they deserve a night of their own.”

She saw the moment Jorah relented, but it didn’t last long. “Fine, but I heard you also intend to give the Unsullied the night off. That’s madness! You’re safety…”

“Will not be an issue. I’m giving my personal guard the night off, because I don’t intend to leave the keep and will not require their protection. That includes you.”

His disappointment was visible when it was clear she meant to include him in this plot of hers. “Khaleesi…”

She raised a hand to stop him and then shook her head. “I’ve made up my mind. My guards, and the staff are all to be given the rest of the night off, no exceptions.” 

Tyrion approached to mediate the peace between Daenerys and the knight. “I for one approve of this new wave of kindness,” he said clapping his hands for effect. “I’m not sure what happened to you yesterday, but you’ve been smiling almost constantly.” 

She wasn’t ready to tell him the whole story, so she settled for something that wasn’t a lie. “Yesterday reminded me of how many people rely on me, rely on us, to improve their lives. Seeing them all, spending time with them, it gave me a new appreciation for why it’s worth the effort.” 

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Tyrion said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Your wish is my command, your Grace. I can think of a friend or two who might appreciate an unexpected visit to the Hand’s Tower along with a glass of fine wine.”

Daenerys shook her head indulgently. It really was difficult not to like Tyrion. “Only two?” she teased, “that’s a much tamer affair than I imagined for you.”

“Imagining me again are you Daenerys?” Tyrion retorted. “I’m touched.” 

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and tried to maintain her glare, but her threat was empty, and Tyrion knew it. The sky outside the nearby window caught her eye. The sun was gone. Her joking with Tyrion was forgotten and the nerves flared again. Arya would be here any time now. “Enjoy your evening Tyrion,” she encouraged as she took her first step toward the main hall. Perhaps Arya was being held up by the guards because they didn’t realize how important she was. 

Any hope that she’d get away without further conversation was dashed. “What will you be doing with yourself tonight Daenerys?” Tyrion asked. He was working to keep his tone the same, as if they were still joking but she could sense some genuine curiosity too. He really wanted to know. 

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” she said trying again to put more space between them. Daenerys didn’t want the first thing Arya saw to be her surrounded by the Queen’s Hand and her knight. 

“You could always join me,” he informed her. 

This time she didn’t even try to hold back her laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she lied. 

Around the corner from where she left Tyrion, she stopped walking and pinned Mormont with a hard look. “I believe I gave you the night off,” she reminded him. 

“I was just…”

She didn’t want to hear it. “I meant what I said. I want to be alone tonight.” Aware her words might be too harsh she softened them slightly without weakening her resolve. “Go and relax, have a drink or two, have more if you want. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“It’s my job…”

“Not tonight it isn’t,” she cut him off. “Go Ser, that’s an order.”

R-C

Her efforts to remain calm by repeating her mantra, ‘It’s just dinner’ were beginning to fail. She’d cleared specks from her dress, paced up and down the hallways more times than she cared to count and even went to the gate to make sure no one had held up Arya’s entry. 

The window provided a torturous reminder of how dark it was getting and how late it must be. Arya should have appeared by now. Worries began to worm their way into her thoughts. Had something happened to keep Arya away? Had she changed her mind about wanting to dine with Daenerys? Selfish as it was to admit, she wasn’t sure which of those she’d be more accepting of. She’d taken an immediate liking to Arya and didn’t want to consider that those feelings might not be reciprocated. 

On one of the passes she made down the long corridor she ran into Missandei and Grey Worm on their way out. The soldier headed on alone, to prepare things in the stables, while the women talked. Missandei did an excellent job of calming Daenerys but as soon as the advisor had gone to meet up with her love, Daenerys was left with only her panic. 

When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she darted upstairs to check on the room. It had been more than fifteen minutes since she’d seen the servants taking the food up the stairs as per the Queen’s instructions. It was their last act before they were free to join everyone else in a night without tending to other people’s needs. Daenerys worried the food was getting cold while she waited for Arya. She didn’t do much cooking, but she was sure she could set the food over a flame to keep it warm, if necessary. She’d rather that, then feed Arya food that was cold, flavorless or both. 

Past the library down the hall to the center of the three available doors. She hadn’t been gone long, so she didn’t expect anything to have changed and yet when she opened the door everything had. There, at the table, as if she’d been there all along, Arya sat. 

Questions battered around in her head like a ship on the rocks but each one seemed less important than the last, now that Arya was in front of her. Her primary emotion was relief. Arya was here, nothing had happened to her and she hadn’t decided not to attend. Time stood still as they looked at one another, the table with their dinner between them. “Glad you could make it,” Arya said standing up. “I thought I was going to have to eat alone.” 

Arya always managed to make simple clothes attractive and yet nothing prepared Dany for what she was wearing tonight. Her black pants were spotless and looked new, as did her grey colored shirt. She’d tucked the shirt in and tied her hair back neatly. While Daenerys could only stare, Arya walked around the table to the empty chair, Dany’s chair and pulled it out for her. 

The sound of the chair being set onto the floor jolted Daenerys from her haze and she burst into action. She wanted to close the door, but Arya was standing there, holding the back of her chair, expectantly, so she went to Arya first. In a surprising romantic gesture, she pushed the Queen’s chair in carefully. “Thank you,” Daenerys said quietly as Arya stood at her back. 

“You look beautiful,” she commented in a low voice to match Daenerys’s. Only when she felt the rush of air against her ear did she realize how close Arya really was to her. 

The table between them may have been more formal than the tavern one they first met across, but it was no less natural in Daenerys’s opinion. “You look very nice yourself,” she noted. 

Her eyes made another pass of Arya’s clothes, there were no tears, no spots of dirt, even her hands and face looked recently washed. “New clothes?” she guessed, hoping it wouldn’t embarrass the younger woman to have it pointed out. 

“Couldn’t come to see the Queen’s in the clothes I usually wear, could I?” she asked, with no hint of embarrassment or discomfort. 

Her clean hands were on the table, and Daenerys impulsively reached for one. “Yes, you could’ve.”

“Hungry?” Arya asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject. 

Daenerys let it happen without complaint. “I am actually.”

Arya’s eyes lit with mischief and Daenerys could tell she was in for some teasing. Arya didn’t disappoint. “Long day, manipulating us mere mortals?”

She reluctantly released Arya and looked at her plate for the first time. Arya did the same. To her relief it still looked warm and smelled delicious. “Had to let the mortals fend for themselves today,” Daenerys admitted as she readied her first bite. “I was too busy thinking about this.”

Arya wasn’t ready to let the joking end and Daenerys didn’t mind one bit. “Do you mean dinner? Please tell me they feed you more than one meal a day around here? You should really talk to your boss about that.” 

Daenerys laughed. She appreciated Arya’s attempts to avoid the fact that she was Queen. “Less the meal, more the companion,” she confessed. 

“You have nothing to worry about. All the way up here I heard your praises. Did you really give the entire staff of the Red Keep the night off?”

She blushed a little and focused more intently on her food. “I decided they deserved it, and since I wouldn’t be needing them…”

“What if you need someone to open your wine later?” Arya pressed, wearing that smirk of hers. 

She recalled the day before at the tournament. Hadn’t Arya promised to tend to her wine opening needs? She did her best to mirror Arya’s expression. She was sure it was a pale imitation. “I thought that’s what you were here for.” 

Arya laughed, a fork of food nearly at her mouth, stopping in midair to allow her to enjoy the joke. As soon as she recovered, she pushed the fork into her mouth while Daenerys watched mesmerized. Arya’s moan as she got her first taste of the meal reminded Daenerys of the night they’d spent together in the tavern’s upstairs room. If Arya liked it that much, she would have to thank the ladies in the kitchen. “This is great, did you cook this for me?”

For a second, she thought about lying, desperately wanting to take credit for something Arya clearly approved of, but right before she did, Arya looked up from her plate, met Daenerys’s eye and winked. Aware that she’d been played, Daenerys decided to have a little fun at her own expense. “I wanted you to like it, so I let the women in the kitchen handle it.”

“When the ladies of your kitchen return to work tomorrow, give them my regards,” Arya said before shoveling another bite into her mouth. She chewed quietly and never spoke with her mouth full, but she did eat much faster than Daenerys was used to. 

Her causal comment reminded her of some of the questions she needed answered and now seemed as good a time as any. “How did you know I gave everyone the night off?”

Arya scoffed while she eyed the Queen. “Are you kidding? I heard it from no fewer than four different people on my way up here.”

She wanted to know how Arya had managed to get into the keep, and past all of her guards without anyone knowing but another realization struck her that demanded to go first. “They thought you were a servant?” she asked, horrified at the presumption. 

Arya was unbothered by the implication. “Of course, they did. What other business does someone like me have in a place like this?” 

She wanted to be offended on Arya’s behalf, but she barely had time to keep up before she was asking questions about the tournament the day before. Arya opened and poured them each a glass of wine as Daenerys described her meetings with the winners and her decision to pay tribute to their victory in the form of things their towns and villages needed.

“They’ll appreciate that, I’m sure.” 

The rest of the meal passed easily, with conversation as varied as it was carefree. They talked about her time in Essos, about Arya’s time in Braavos, about the games they’d witnessed the day before and what had been going on in their lives since that meeting at the tavern. 

Arya explained she’d been travelling and heard of the tournament. According to her, she hadn’t planned to attend until she changed her mind at the last moment. Daenerys listened and thanked whatever Gods favored her that Arya decided to go and watch. 

Her dinner companion expertly avoided all the topics related to her position as Queen and the longer it went on, the less likely it was coincidental. Daenerys freely spoke about how she spent her days, but did so in a general way, without going into too much detail. 

On her side, Daenerys avoided mentioning the fact that she’d gone back to the tavern to look for Arya, or that she’d bedded a young girl who was a poor imitation of her. She didn’t tell Arya that she’d thought of her constantly or that she’d become a frequent star in Daenerys’s dreams. What they had was enough and she didn’t want to push it too far, too fast. 

When Daenerys was winding down what she had to share, Arya asked her an innocent question about her plans for King’s Landing now that she was Queen. For more than an hour Arya listened to Dany’s plans, from the orphanage she wanted to open, to her goal to improve the conditions in Flea Bottom.” When she finished and realized how much she’d said, her face reddened and she looked away from Arya’s face to apologize. 

Arya refilled their glasses as Dany neared the end of her meal. She’d been looking down at her vegetables when Arya chuckled. “Not exactly what we had the last time we got together is it?”

Daenerys smiled at the fond memory. “I didn’t think rum would pair well with your beef.”

“Rum pairs well with everything,” she countered seriously. “It’s part of its charm.” 

Daenerys smiled to herself. As a final touch, when she was getting dressed, she asked Missandei to ensure a bottle of rum was located for them. She couldn’t see it from where she was but had no doubt it was there somewhere. “I know better than to invite you to dinner and serve only wine. Fear not.”

Daenerys ate her last bite and then set her fork down. Arya was already done and was passing the time by holding her wine in one hand while her eyes studied the room. “How did you get in here?” 

Daenerys had been thinking about it, trying to find a plausible way Arya could pass the guards and get to their meeting but she kept coming up short. When she said she’d been mistaken for a servant she took it as a clue and thought she’d used the servant’s entrance but even they are guarded. 

Arya stood, and Daenerys did the same. Instead of going to the bench under the window as she imagined Arya began gathering up the dishes they’d eaten off of. As she worked, she answered Daenerys’s question. “The day I can’t sneak past a few guards, they’ll be burning my body or burying me in a snow-covered crypt.” 

Not even the confidence oozing from every word was enough to settle Daenerys. It didn’t seem possible. The Unsullied were some of the best in the world. Nothing escaped their attention and yet somehow Arya had. “Did you tell the guards you were a servant?” she needed to know. The mystery was gnwaing at her. 

“Never spoke to any of your Unsullied, just the servants I passed on the way up who mistook me for one of there kind.”

That seemed wholly unlikely and yet the truth sat before her in all her gorgeous splendor. “Do I need new guards?” she asked, wondering if there was a flaw Arya exploited. 

She had a stack of dirty dishes in her arms now. “No, your men were good, it took me twice as long as I though it would.” 

“I was waiting for you downstairs,” Daenerys pointed out weakly. 

“I told you I wanted to eat here.”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to get in without announcing yourself!” she said, her frustration bubbling up. 

“Now you know,” she finished, as if it was just one more detail to store for later. 

“What are you doing?!” Daenerys asked in a hard voice. Her frustration with the previous topic had bled over into this one as Arya struggled to add the last of the table’s dishes to the pile she was carrying. The empty wine glasses were proving to be her undoing. 

“Cleaning up,” she stated as if it were obvious. 

“I can see that, but why?”

Arya raised a dark eyebrow in challenge and then spoke as if she were addressing an invalid and not the Queen. “Because we’re done.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Daenerys said, taking the wine glasses from the pile before they toppled off and shattered. 

Arya ended her frustrations with a single sentence. “I was hoping we’d relax now that we’re done.”

It still amazed her how Arya could go from being so blunt, to teasing and then sweet, all with seemingly no warning. She put a gentle hand on Arya’s arm, careful not to apply enough pressure to tilt the dishes. “I want that too, so come sit.”

“What about the dishes?”

“Leave them,” Daenerys decided without thought. 

“Until tomorrow?” When Daenerys didn’t immediately respond Arya reminded her of the key detail. “Your staff isn’t here.” 

She knew that, but that didn’t mean she wanted Arya tending to such tasks by herself. “You’re my guest,” she said, keeping her hand on Arya’s arm. “You shouldn’t have to clean up. Sit down, have a glass of rum and I’ll take them down to the kitchen.”

Arya’s eyes turned unexpectedly soft again. “My mother would flog me if she knew I had you making me dinner and then cleaning up without my help.” 

Her words were a shock because Arya had never spoken about her family, not once. Suddenly she had questions burning her tongue about Arya’s mother and the manners she instilled in her. “Arya it’s fine, you’re my guest you shouldn’t be doing that.”

“You aren’t a Queen tonight,” Arya reminded her. “You had dinner prepared for us, it was delicious. The least I can do is help you take the used dishes downstairs.”

Fully aware she was never going to win in this argument, she decided to compromise. “We’ll go down together,” Daenerys said, reviewing the table to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. Arya did the majority of the lifting, with Dany carrying the two glasses and the almost empty bottle they’d been drinking from. 

“Sure you don’t want to keep that for later?” Arya asked as they made their way to the door, with Arya in the lead. 

“I think I’d rather have rum,” she announced, wetting her lips. 

“That’s my kinda girl.” 

Daenerys had never seen the Red Keep so deserted. Regardless of the time of day there was always patrolling soldiers, stationed guards and plenty of servants going about their business but when she reached the staircase outside the library without seeing another person, she couldn’t hold back her smile. By the time she reached the bottom, they still hadn’t encountered anyone else. It made her feel like she and Arya had the castle to themselves. 

Her happy thoughts shattered when she heard from several steps ahead. “Fuck I hate this place.” 

She hurried to catch up with Arya. She had been right behind her until she got lost in the moment and slowed down. “You’ve been here before?” she said, posing it as a question when it really wasn’t. There was no other way she could have known the layout or known a route void of guards to sneak through. Daenerys was going to get confirmation one way or the other and learn a little more about Arya. 

“You’d think it would change a little,” she said, talking more to herself than Daenerys, “but if you took changed the banners it wouldn’t look all that different from any of the other times I’d stood on this spot.”

Times? So, it was more than once. She tried to conjure up reasons for Arya to be in the Red Keep and she didn’t like where her mind went. She’d seen the scars and knew Cersei had a taste for torturing her captives. Had Arya ended up in the Red Keep’s dungeon? 

“Least the kitchen’s still in the right place,” Arya said as she led the Queen to it without any wrong turns or uncertain steps. 

She set the dirty dishes in the large basin that held all the uncleaned items from dinner. Daenerys added her two glasses to the top and then set the wine on the counter, trusting someone would find a good home for the amount that remained. 

Daenerys felt horrible all the sudden. Had she forced Arya to join her and brought back unpleasant memories? She had to fix it, even if it meant doing the exact opposite of what she wanted and letting Arya go. “I’m sorry coming here upsets you,” she said as she felt the beginning of tears threaten. “I didn’t know, but I probably should have asked. If you want to go, if you don’t want to stay, please accept my apology.”

There in the empty kitchen with dirty dishes and uneaten food all around them Arya pulled her in for a hug. It was tight and fierce in its hold. Daenerys might have been dreaming but she thought she felt a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Arya told her in a whisper. “You didn’t do it and it’s not your fault, I just have a little trouble with my past and sometimes it reminds me its there.”

“Like when you’re invited to dinner at the Red Keep?” Daenerys said, feeling worse and not better despite Arya’s assertions that she wasn’t to blame. 

“I could have said no,” she made clear, “I wanted to come and I’m glad I did.” This shrunk Daenerys’s worries to a tolerable level. She hadn’t ruined things beyond repair and that meant there was still a chance to salvage it. The hug ended, and Arya took Daenerys’s hand. “Can we go back upstairs, I always liked that room.” 

“Of course,” she agreed, seeing it as another step toward making Arya forget whatever ghosts from her past popped up when she was in Daenerys’s home. “Lead the way.”

A patrol of Unsullied were coming down the stairs as Arya and Daenerys were going up. Arya opened the hand Daenerys was holding, a clear offer to separate in front of her freed men and while she considered it, she didn’t want to let go of Arya’s hand. In fact, she squeezed it tighter. She’d deal with the consequences tomorrow, tonight was for her and she wanted to hold Arya’s hand for as long as she could. 

R-C

Back in the room where they shared the meal Daenerys made sure to close and lock the door this time. None of the guards spoke as they passed though several did nod in acknowledgement to their Queen. Daenerys wasn’t foolish enough to believe the men bred for war hadn’t noticed Arya with her, but she was relieved none of them asked about her. 

Arya was unexpectedly candid when they were alone again. “This is the only room in this entire castle I ever liked,” she told Daenerys as the Queen hung on every word. 

Her instincts told her not to rush Arya, not to push, although the questions were plentiful. When had Arya been here and why? Given her age it could have been when Robert, Cersei or any of their children sat on the throne. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to keep herself from asking if the silence continued but Arya wasn’t done. “I studied to dance in this room,” she said with a fond smile. 

Arya could dance? Admittedly there was much she didn’t yet know about the woman in front of her, but she never would have guessed that. Daenerys couldn’t envision it. Being faster than an angry snake was quite different from mastering a predetermined pattern of steps. Arya didn’t seem like the sort to be bothered with it. “Really?” she finally asked, almost certain Arya was toying with her again. 

She looked away from the room’s high ceiling and found Daenerys’s face. To her delight Arya’s smile remained as her mind came back to the present. “I learned the Water Dance right where you’re standing,” she confirmed. 

Daenerys glanced down at her shoes as if there would be some evidence to prove Arya’s statement true. “The Water Dance?” She’d never heard of such a thing but that only made her want to see it more. 

She eyed Daenerys with a strange look for a few seconds. “All those years in Essos and you never heard of the Water Dance?” 

She tried to think back, to recall some mention of such a thing during her time in the East but she couldn’t. The Dothraki didn’t waste time with such trivial things and she hadn’t had many opportunities for balls and dances after she rejoined so-called civilized society. She’d been too busy fighting the slavers, raising an army and preparing for Westeros. “Show me,” she asked, though to her own ears it sounded a little too much like an order and she flinched. She was used to just making demands and getting what she wanted. Arya was different, so she needed to be as well. 

Arya was enjoying a joke Daenerys didn’t understand, unbothered by her near-command. “Ask one of your Unsullied to explain why that would be a bad idea, or perhaps that advisor you keep on your hip. She’s from Astapor, yes?”

When had Arya seen Missandei and how did she know where she was from? She’d learned asking would only lead to more questions, so Daenerys tried a different approach. “Being there wasn’t her choice, being here is.”

Arya took a large step toward the bench and Daenerys went with her. “Yes,” she said as she took a seat and waited for the Targaryen to do the same. “Your feats are the thing of legend Dany, on both sides of the sea.” 

It felt odd having Arya praise her accomplishments as a Queen. Their encounters had always included avoiding that issue, even as Daenerys spoke of her day to day life and the many things that kept her busy. It also struck her that she called her “Dany” as she typically did. Dany was who she was with Arya and no one else. Dany hadn’t been the one to meet Kraznys years before in the slave city. For reasons she couldn’t explain she felt the need to point that out. “Dany didn’t do that. Dany is here with you,” she said taking Arya’s hand again. They’d separated briefly as they settled on the bench but now Daenerys wanted the contact back. “Out there,” she said pointing to the door with their joined hands, “out there, there is no Dany.”

“Isn’t there?” Arya protested calmly. It was as it always was, with her posing a seemingly innocent question that made Daenerys think of her life and herself in a new way. “It wasn’t Daenerys Targaryen the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms who freed the slaves or brought dragons back to this world. You weren’t a Queen then.”

She could have continued the argument, tried to explain she’d been a Khaleesi when those things happened, but it didn’t seem important enough. Not when there were so many other things she’d rather be doing. She threw herself at Arya and when their bodies collided, she felt exactly what she’d hoped, a pair of strong arms wrapping around her to hold tight. Their lips melded, and Daenerys heard a moan that was surely hers. Hells, she tasted even better than Dany remembered. 

Arya kissed back, matching her passion perfectly. She may have been rushing slightly but Daenerys didn’t know how not to kiss her when she said something as sweet and heartfelt as she had. She was used to people telling her what she wanted to hear, lying to win her favor. Arya wouldn’t do that. She said what she had because she believed it. She thought Dany had been the one to free Missandei and release the Unsullied after their purchase, Dany had been the one to birth dragons and Dany was the one kissing her lover now. 

Once the kiss was over Daenerys snuggled into Arya’s side. Instead of leaning into her as she’d hoped, the taller woman leaned away, sticking her arm over the side of the bench and down to the floor. Had she dropped something during their kiss? With a satisfied chuckle Arya leaned toward her again, raising her hand and the bottle of unopened rum she brought with her. “Thirsty?” Arya asked as she opened the top with ease, breaking through the wax seal. 

There was wine on her side of the bench, placed there before she asked Missandei to find the rum. She bypassed the bottle and picked up the glasses. They were a basic pair, with no gold edging or engraved dragons, just glasses like the ones she might find in Arya’s home. “I could be persuaded to have a drink,” she said as she held the glasses steady for Arya to pour into, “provided I have the right company.” 

“Remember,” she said with a fire in her eyes, “the more you drink, the less it will burn.” 

That was one of the first things Arya said to her and Daenerys remembered it vividly. “I could never forget,” she said sincerely before she took her first sip. The burn was almost refreshing, she quickly returned for another taste. 

“Getting drunk in case I’m a poor lover?” Arya joked, again playing on their first meeting. 

“Ever consider that I might like the taste?” 

“Ahhh!” Arya sighed in amusement before she had a drink herself. “A convert.” Her face shifted to a solemn one and she made a dramatic show of crossing her heart. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I originally had the entire date in one chapter, but it was even bigger than the last one, so I split it up. The next one is almost ready to submit, so it shouldn’t take too long. 
> 
> Until then  
> RC


	4. Chapter 4

She’d had less of the rum than Arya but the effects on the Queen were undeniable. To her dismay Arya had handled it far better and appeared much more in control than Daenerys felt. The conversation was easy, and they laughed frequently as they alternated tales from their childhoods. Arya told her how she’d used to have to hide in the bushes near her home to escape the sewing her mother insisted she learn. When it was her turn Daenerys spoke of a time before the Khal, before Pentos when she and Viserys would travel freely, when his anger was muted and his love for her visible. 

If they weren’t talking, they were busy with other pursuits. More than a little bit of rum had spilled as Arya pulled Daenerys in for unexpected kisses. When the reverse occurred Arya never lost a drop. Her steady hands remained even as Daenerys made it her mission to see them waver.

How she’d gotten into this position was a bit blurry. She ended up flat on the bench, with her legs open and Arya leaning over her. She was careful not to lay her weight on the smaller woman and was resting one of her knees on the bench for support. Daenerys wanted a mouth on hers, but Arya was making her wait, choosing instead to taunt her with soft kisses, flicking licks and light nibbles against her neck, ear and across to her shoulder. Daenerys was thrilled she chose a strapless dress when she felt Arya’s lips make the journey from the crease of her neck to the edge of her shoulder unhalted. 

Remaining still was hard. She squirmed and tried to coax Arya to end the torment, but her efforts only seemed to push the dark-haired vixen in the opposite direction. The more Daenerys whimpered the more Arya prolonged her anguish. 

Time lost its meaning as she surrendered to Arya. She knew early on what it would take to get Arya to stop teasing her, but she wasn’t ready to capitulate. Whether she was Daenerys or Dany she wasn’t going to beg until the last possible moment. If Arya wanted those words to pass her swollen lips, she’d need to earn them. Although she didn’t say any of this out loud, she trusted Arya knew. She rose to meet Daenerys’s unspoken challenge all the same. The game was on. This one was far more interesting to Daenerys than anything she’d seen at the tournament. 

Her hands clawed the cushion, digging her nails into the fabric as she tried to remain as still as she could. Above her the knowing smirk on Arya’s face only made her desire stronger. When Arya’s mouth abandoned her sensitive neck and began to move lower Daenerys prayed silently that Arya was as desperate as she was to get the relief they needed. She should have known better. Earlier in their tryst she’d run her fingers through Arya’s hair and removed the band holding it back. Now, dark strands brushed against her chest as she worked toward Daenerys’s nipples. She didn’t need to look to know they were as hard as pebbles inside her dress and that was a good thing since Dany couldn’t manage to open her eyes. They were closed tightly as she fought to reign in her lust. Arya played her way across Daenerys’s exposed cleavage expertly. Her lips stopped any time they came in contact with silk, causing Daenerys to whimper in need. As soon as she realized Arya intended to work back up, something inside Daenerys snapped. She gave up her hold on the bench and gripped the back of Arya’s head, using all her power to keep her there. 

Her strategy was poorly designed. Holding Arya still, just limited the area she would focus on, lavishing the small spot near the edge of Daenerys’s dress in constant kisses and sharper bites than anything she did to the Queen’s neck. Her hips began to move on their own, desperate for friction, against any part of Arya’s toned body they could reach. When Arya laughed at her prey, the vibrations against Daenerys’s breast nearly broke her. She needed this, she wanted it and by the Gods she was going to have it, even if it took admitting defeat. 

“Fuck!” she hissed as she threw her head back carelessly and ended up striking it against the bench hard. “Take me to bed Arya,” she commanded with all the dignity she had left. Arya didn’t move an inch and Daenerys knew why. “Please, Arya,” she finally said, sounding breathless and raw. “Please!”

That did it and Arya pulled away, easily breaking Daenerys’s hold as she grinned in victory. “Music to my ears,” she mocked, just before she planted her lips to Daenerys’s. The kiss was pure fire and Arya placed both her hands on the bench, on opposite sides of Daenerys’s head. With her arms free, Daenerys reached around and worked up under Arya’s shirt. The scars on her back felt familiar as she traced them at random. Remembering her lover’s tolerance for pain she scratched hard, punishing her for making Daenerys plead. She was rewarded by Arya breaking the kiss to curse before their mouths met more intently. 

The frantic kissing caused Daenerys to tilt her head and stretch her neck in all manner of directions and angles. She felt the dull ache as she attempted certain poses, a reminder of the time Arya spent there. Daenerys smiled in response to her thoughts. “Take me to bed!” 

The hesitation she saw in her graceful partner reminded her of how she’d been when Daenerys first saw her body. “The Queen’s bed?”

She knew the fact that she was royalty was an issue for Arya, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her, stop them. She kissed Arya hard, and used her tongue to force her way into Arya’s mouth. She stayed like that, ignoring her body’s demands for air until she felt Arya begin to relax again. “Dany’s bed,” she corrected. 

R-C

As soon as they were inside her chambers, Daenerys was overcome by a wave of shyness. She was afraid for Arya to see just how much she had, to see how much gold had been wasted decorating a room she barely used. As it always was, the room was well lit by strategically placed candles. Daenerys moved fast, from corner to corner, blowing out the flames as quickly as she could, hoping the darkness would make it easier for Arya to overlook their location. She met her lover near the bed and took her in her arms. “It’s just like your room above the tavern,” she said before she kissed her. This kiss was nothing like their last, it was gentle and tender and one more time Arya matched the mood perfectly. 

“It’s not exactly like that,” Arya pointed out. 

“Close enough,” Daenerys insisted, grabbing the bottom of Arya’s shirt and raising it up over her head. Even in the dark she could make out the faint lines of her muscles and many of the scars. She knew many more were invisible without the light, but she vowed to touch them all as she dropped the shirt to the floor and let her hands wander. 

She was kissing the side of Arya’s neck when the taller woman tried to best the dress Daenerys wore. Held up by a series of unseen pins there was little give when Arya pulled. She groaned in frustration and pulled harder, getting a peek at her bare breasts before the fabric settled. She knew from experience how strong Arya was. She could have broken the pins if she wished but she was taking care, not wanting to damage the dress. Daenerys was touched by the sentiment, needless as it was. She reluctantly stopped her work on Arya and looked down at herself. She was a mess. The dress was out of alignment exposing parts of her that were meant to be covered and blocking others that had been on display all night. “Don’t go soft on me now Arya,” she said, enjoying being on the other side of the teasing for once. “If you want what’s under that dress you’re going to need to really pull.” 

She could have told her about the pins or even removed them herself, she had plenty of practice. Where was the fun in that? Her instincts proved right when she met Arya’s eye in the darkness and saw fire in them. It was an answer to her challenge. Her dress didn’t stand a chance.

In the large room there was only the sound of breathing for a long moment, then Daenerys heard the tearing of fabric, and the distinct pinging sound of the pins hitting the floor. The silk was suddenly gone and Daenerys was left exposed. “That’s better,” she said, feeling younger than she truly was. 

In front of her, Arya held the torn dress in one hand, looking between it and Daenerys’s face. “Tearing a fine silk dress, my sister would be appalled.”

Her sister? Daenerys hadn’t known she had a sister until right then and it was not the time discuss it. She did what she could to memorize that detail for later, so she could learn more when her needs were satisfied.

Seeing Arya discard the meaningless dress on the floor and focus fully on the Queen, made her whole body shiver in anticipation. She took Arya’s hand and began backing up, bringing the taller woman with her. Even in the dark, she knew where the bed would be. She put her free hand down and felt around as casually as she could. When she’d left last, the bed was lined with dresses, but apparently someone had cleaned up for her. She’d need to thank Missandei for that too, she guessed. 

With her legs against the end of the bed she decided to try and surprise Arya with a bold gesture. Biting her bottom lip in focus she spun around as gracefully as she could, rotating them so it was Arya’s back and not Daenerys’s that was to the bed. Once she had them in the right position. she put her empty hand against Arya’s breasts and pushed as hard as she could, knowing she’d need all her strength to knock her over. 

She fell, and Daenerys took full advantage. She landed on top of Arya without concern for her weight, knowing Arya could take it. She doubted herself briefly when she struck Arya’s body and heard a grunt of effort and dare she say, pain. She immediately tried to scurry off, to lighten the load but Arya’s arms snared her and kept her exactly where she was. Any lingering concerns vanished with the forceful, hungry kiss Arya gave her in response to her efforts. 

She broke the kiss earlier than she wanted and got back to the most important thing in that moment, ridding Arya of the remainder of her clothes. She kissed down her body, stopping at several scars to give them attention. Her hands got to the front of Arya’s pants before her mouth, but not by much. She was much better at remaining still than Daenerys had been in a similar situation earlier, but that only prompted Daenerys to try harder to illicit a reaction. 

When she realized what Daenerys intended Arya kicked off her boots, sending one falling off the foot of the bed, while the other went flying across the dark bedchamber. Arya cursed when the boot got away from her and tensed when they heard it clang against some unseen object. Daenerys didn’t mind. If anything, she took it as proof that Arya wanted this as badly as she did. But just because she wasn’t upset didn’t mean she wouldn’t tease her about it. “Torn dresses, boots lost forever, leave the pants to me,” she instructed, as she kissed across Arya’s stomach, “before you hurt yourself.”

Any advantage she had was short lived. “If you want to get in my pants Dany,” Arya bantered back, “you could have just asked.”

She smiled, enjoying the game. She’d never had a lover who challenged her the way Arya did. It was refreshing and more intoxicating than the rum. “Fine!” Daenerys relented, “Take your fucking pants off then.” 

Instead of adding her hands to Daenerys’s near her waist, she simply laid there on the bed under her Queen. “I thought you said you were going to do it, lest I injure myself.” She was being difficult on purpose and yet Daenerys found her desire growing instead of waning. 

Fine then, she’d do it. She pulled the pants off Arya’s hips slowly and appreciated the fact that she lifted up to make it easier. Once they were at her knees Daenerys almost left them there and busied herself on other more pressing things. She wanted Arya as naked as she was, so she took the extra time to strip her completely, taking note of the fact that Arya did nothing more than bending her legs at the appropriate time to help. 

When the pants were on the floor next to her dress and Arya’s shirt, she looked up the length of her lover’s body to find Arya lying on her back, with her hands behind her head, the picture of ease, in the darkness. 

She had a plan. She needed to keep Arya talking, distracted, while she got in place for a surprise attack. Arya had liked when she’d forced her down onto the bed, she hoped for a similar response this time. “Comfortable?” Daenerys prodded as she crawled up toward Arya’s smirking lips. 

“Absolutely,” she answered shamelessly. “Whoever made your bed this morning did a spectacular job.” 

She carefully avoided making contact with Arya’s tempting body until she was ready. Daenerys scoffed and turned her head to try and hide her blooming smile. “How do you know I didn’t make the bed myself?” she asked feigning outrage. 

“Please,” Arya replied in the midst of a chuckle. “I’d bet my favorite sword you have a team of handmaidens and advisors who fly in here every morning like buzzards to help you get ready, three of them at least.”

She was nearly in the perfect spot. Her head was level to Arya’s breasts and it wouldn’t be difficult for her to reach between her legs when the time came. Daenerys felt her own wetness surge as she thought about what would follow that. 

Arya took her silence as a confession and she was right. Daenerys did have more than three handmaidens who all had specific duties in helping the Queen prepare for the day. She let the quiet spread while waiting impatiently. Arya laughed beside her, confident in her assessment. “I knew…”

She didn’t get to finish as Daenerys sprung her trap. She attached her mouth to Arya’s nearest breast, covering her nipple in the wet heat of her mouth. She tried to maximize the pleasure her lover felt as she grazed her nipple with her sharp teeth at the same moment she reached between Arya’s legs and cupped her wet center. With the firmest part of her palm she pressed harder than she would have dared with any other woman, but Arya replied like she’d hoped and writhed on the bed as she lifted up to Daenerys’s touch. They stayed like that as Arya refused to pull away. “Fuckkkk!” she groaned as her hands moved from behind her head. She was no longer relaxed, and Daenerys thrived on being the reason why. 

She was in the process of kissing across Arya’s chest to her other breast when it happened. All at once, before she could even comprehend it Arya rolled them. A squeal of delight left her mouth and she broke contact with the skin she’d been tasting. She did however manage to keep her hand between Arya’s legs the entire time. Her fingers petted the soft, wet folds as she let Arya take the lead from the top. She dove into Daenerys’s neck and the Queen turned her head to accommodate her. She was rougher now, more insistent. She didn’t doubt Arya would make her beg before the night was done, but Daenerys was confident she wouldn’t be the only one. 

R-C

Her night with Arya was worth all the effort it took to arrange. The dark-haired woman was blessed with vigorous stamina. She was insatiable, and Daenerys knew she was lucky to be on the receiving end. There wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t ache or throb in the best way under Arya’s touch. Unfortunately, the need for sleep was making itself known. It had been a long day and an even longer night. She’d have little trouble falling asleep next to Arya and she looked forward to it but first she wanted to give her generous lover a fraction of the pleasure she’d enjoyed. 

Arya was on top of her again, pushing her long fingers deep into Daenerys’s core. She could have let it go on forever without complaint, but she needed to focus. Arya deserved some attention too. She’d done what she could to tend to Arya’s needs while she was being pleasured but it was difficult, and Daenerys found it hard to see the task through to the end. It was far too easy to get distracted by the feelings Arya had surging through her body. 

She reached between her legs and pulled on Arya’s wrist. With grey eyes watching her closely she pulled the arm and the woman attached to it up to her face. With her violet eyes locked onto Arya she pulled two of Arya’s fingers into her mouth, the same two that had brought her such joy. She tasted herself as she worked but barely noticed, too taken by the way Arya moaned under her tongue. She needed this. 

She kept licking until long after her fingers were clean. When she finished, she’d decided how she wanted to feel Arya climax. She got up and went to the end of the bed. Arya rolled slightly to watch without comment. This wasn’t going to work if Arya didn’t join her and Daenerys desperately wanted it to work. In the privacy of her bedchambers with no one but Arya to hear her, she didn’t need to worry about embarrassing herself or being too forward. “Are you coming, or will I be pleasuring myself?” she asked, hoping to motivate Arya into action. 

The speed with which Arya hurried down the bed had Daenerys smirking wickedly. That was more like it. They’d been on the soft bed for hours, but Daenerys suspected Arya would appreciate something a little harder for the finale. 

Emboldened by the endless desire racing in her system Daenerys grabbed a handful of Arya’s hair and pulled her in for a kiss. It was wild, and hungry, with more mashing teeth than tender tongues. Any questions about how her idea would be taken died when she saw Arya’s expression. She broke the kiss but refused to look away from Daenerys’s face. A swipe of her tongue caught Daenerys’s attention and she watched as Arya cleared a drop of blood from her lip. She hadn’t realized she bit her that hard. 

Feeding off the reaction she got from her lover, Daenerys repeated the same act, pulling her hair as if she meant to kiss her, but this time she used her hold to push her to the floor. Arya could have resisted but she didn’t. For once Daenerys was in a position to tower over a kneeling Arya. When she looked down from her dominant perch, she could see what Arya intended. She was going to take advantage of their proximity and connect her mouth to Daenerys’s wet pussy again. The promise of another orgasm was almost enough to let her proceed. This was for Arya, not her. “Turn around, face the bed!” she demanded. 

She wondered what she’d do if Arya didn’t obey. Before she could obsess too much she was drawn to movement. She didn’t ask one question before she turned to the bed and settled onto her hands and knees, just as Daenerys devised. She stood over her a moment longer, appreciating the form before her. Arya’s body was so lithe and deceptive in its power. She was as strong as many of the men Daenerys had taken to bed and yet hid it so much better. 

As silently as she could she got into place behind Arya. Like Arya she knelt on the hard, unforgiving floor. She trusted Arya would be ready for her and she was. Without warning she pushed two of her fingers into Arya hard. She was met by a loud moan and wet heat. She savored everything about that moment. Suddenly wide awake and clear headed she pumped her fingers in and out as fast as he could. When Arya pleaded for more Daenerys obliged by adding a third finger. She rocked back and forth, onto her palms and then back to Daenerys as if trying to help her small fingers find a deeper place inside her. While one hand fucked her, Daenerys used her other to assault Arya’s available flesh. She reached as high up her back as she could and raked her nails down hard, leaving marks from the first pass. She branded any part of her she could reach, her back, her legs, her ass, all of it was Daenerys’s and she wanted to make sure everyone knew it. 

By the time Arya’s muscles clenched her fingers, Arya was almost prone on the floor. Daenerys took the opportunity to lean over her more completely and fuck her more vigorously. When she heard Arya scream her name she knew once wouldn’t be enough. She didn’t say Daenerys, but Dany. Her choice of names confirmed Dany’s greatest wish. Even in her most mindless state, incapable of logic, Arya thought of the silver haired Targaryen as Dany and nothing else. It was exactly what Daenerys wanted to hear. 

Arya’s strong thighs tried to trap her hand in place. Understanding what she needed Daenerys pushed her fingers deep and left them there, allowing Arya to press back as much as she liked. Her hand would be sore tomorrow. She smiled anyway, finding humor in the fact that no one else would know why she was so exhausted, or moving so tentatively. 

While Arya was panting, trying to recover Daenerys was plotting their next position. She swatted Arya’s bare ass playfully. “Up!” she called. The grunt she got in reply was too adorable for words. “I’m not done with you yet,” she said, approving of how those few words propelled Arya in a way her commands never could.

On her knees in front of Daenerys again the Queen saw the first hint of fatigue in her muscles. Her legs were shaking ever so slightly. With a gentle touch unlike what they’d just done Daenerys ran her fingers over Arya’s wet lips. She leaned into the touch, but Daenerys used her other hand to keep her from getting ahead of the Queen’s slower pace. With one of her legs she began spreading Arya’s knees, nudging one and then the other, to make it easy for her to stay balanced. When the opening was wide enough, she laid out on the floor by her bed and reached for the woman she couldn’t get enough of. Her hands found purchase on Arya’s ass and guided her down onto Daenerys’s waiting mouth. 

Arya’s moans, grunts and curses were a siren’s song that urged Daenerys to keep going. There would be other nights she could catch up on her sleep. The floor was more comfortable than she thought it’d be. No matters of state, no frustrations with the court, no overbearing advisors existed anymore. Whatever she’d done to get to this moment was worth the price and then some. 

R-C

They woke together the next morning, neither one sneaking out this time. She yawned as she sat up in bed, looking to Arya. She had her back to the Queen and was showing off all the marks Daenerys had left during their time together. “Does your back hurt?” she asked, touching a particularly angry looking scratch gently. She had trouble believing she could have done that. 

Arya stopped what she was doing and looked over her shoulder at the concerned woman. “I don’t mind. It’ll make it harder to forget you.”

It was unfair just how much that statement cheered Daenerys. Arya would be leaving today because of her, because of her life and yet she still wanted to think that Arya would remember her well. She wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure what. She was afraid anything she tried would destroy the peaceful bliss she was experiencing. 

They’d managed to get a few hours of sleep in the early morning but not nearly enough. Daenerys knew the coming day was going to be long and taxing. “If there is an up side to being so tired, it’s likely that I won’t have the energy to yell at anyone today.” 

Arya had been returning to the bed carrying the temporarily lost boot from the night before. She was wearing its partner already, leaving her lopsided as she crossed the room. When she arrived, she climbed up onto the bed, kneeling next to Daenerys. “Troubles in paradise?” Arya asked, separating each word with a kiss on the side of Daenerys’s already marked neck. 

“Any time I try to do anything, a large group of those in the court oppose me and we end up locked in debate for ages until we pick a new issue to fight over,” she complained. “Nothing ever gets done.” 

She had advisors and friends, in and out of politics. She could have voiced her feelings to any of them, but she didn’t. It wasn’t as if Arya was the first one to ask, just the first one Daenerys felt comfortable telling the truth to. She didn’t have to worry about Arya spreading her words around to the gossips in court or using them as a weapon at a later date. Arya had nothing to do with this part of her life and that was precisely why she was the only one Daenerys was completely honest with. 

In their time together, Arya had proved adept at snake wrestling, drinking, and sex. She had the scars of a woman who had seen battle and could analyse combat in a way Daenerys barely understood. She also had manners, and somehow allowed Dany to tap into the woman she’d been before Viserys chose to marry her off. 

“Why are those people here?” Arya asked as she began to massage Daenerys’s shoulders in her strong hands. 

The addition of a hot mouth sucking on the lobe of her ear was nearly too much. After a long delay she fashioned an answer. “It… its… they’re here to offer advice. Lords and Ladies from powerful families all over Westeros come here to help me govern.”

“That may be what they tell you to your face, but they are there, each and every one of them to curry favor for their houses, to increase their standing in the region they come from. You think you need them, well guess what darling, they need you too.”

“I do need them. They provide the goods that keep the citizens of King’s Landing fed, clothed and secure.”

“And what do they get in exchange for that?” Arya pressed. Daenerys was getting lost in her touch but tried to keep up because she got the sense this was important, whatever it was Arya was trying to teach her. 

“Mmmmoney,” she said as an answer and a moan slipped past her lips at the same time. 

“You’re thinking about it like the Queen,” Arya said. Her tone made it undeniable she didn’t mean that as a compliment. 

“Arya I am the Queen,” she said, feeling stupid for stating the obvious.

“Pretend you weren’t. Pretend you were sent here from a Great House in the North. How many Northmen are here anyway?” she wondered aloud. 

“We have two Northerners in court.” 

“Think of all the things the capitol buys from the North, the furs, the leather, the bows, could you purchase those things from any of the Northern Houses or does only one have everything you need?”

Daenerys was finally beginning to see the point. She leaned in to Arya’s massage to reward herself before she responded. “Any of them could, I suppose.”

“Right so one house is going to get the Realm’s business and the others are not. Now imagine you are the one who gets selected. What do you think that does to the strength of that house when compared to all the others? How would it affect their relationships back home, to say they’d earned the throne’s business?” Arya answered for her. “The one you choose will become more powerful in the region, while the others remain the same. You may need their goods, but you have options and you can use them.”

Just when she thought she understood, Arya lost her. “What would it matter? If I choose a different house, I’ll get the supplies I need, same as before, and that house prospers instead of the first, but nothing changes in King’s Landing.” 

Arya separated what she intended to say next with a hot, passionate kiss that made Daenerys want to do nothing more than take her back to bed. What they had the night they met was supposed to be a one-time occurrence. Now there’d been a second and it was even better than the original. Daenerys didn’t want it to end but wasn’t ready to bring it up to Arya and have to face her feelings directly. It was too soon for that. They were still getting to know one another. 

The kiss over, they both panted and grinned as Arya got back on track and forced Daenerys along for the ride. “Okay now with all that in mind, begin thinking as the Queen again.”

She sighed and threw up her hands. “All I can think of right now is that kiss.”

Arya didn’t appear the least bit repentant even as she said, “I could not kiss you anymore if you’d prefer.”

“Don’t you dare!” Daenerys snapped back, making Arya laugh with the fire in her words and the speed of their delivery. 

She still didn’t understand why Arya felt now was the appropriate time for a discussion on the finer points of politics. She was trying to keep up, to listen to what her friend had to say. 

“So, as we’ve just established…”

“Kissing you is fun,” Daenerys interjected, feeling young and happy, even while fully aware of what waited for her outside her bedchamber. 

“Before that,” Arya said with a roll of her eyes, “we learned that the houses who come to court offer goods, but it also benefits them to have your favor. They want to be picked, so use that.”

“Use it how?” Daenerys wondered. 

“That orphanage you want to open, the one for the victims of the war?”

Daenerys was in awe. She hadn’t thought Arya was really paying attention. Over dinner when discussing her day, she mentioned the orphanage and how it was meeting with resistance from those in her court. Funds were limited, and everyone had a better idea of where and how to spend the money. “Maybe I should just say fuck them and build it anyway.”

She was only half serious. Tyrion would never let her do that. “You could. You control the treasury and your word is law but cutting out the court would only incite those who see you as a foreigner who invaded, waged war and took the throne.” 

Daenerys had never minded hearing those things said about her, because she knew they weren’t true. She was born in Dragonstone and ruling Westeros was in her blood. As for being a foreigner -- she took that as a compliment regardless of how those who said it meant it, because the Westerosi Kings and Queens who came before her did little to actually aid their people. They seemed far more interested in helping themselves. Hearing Arya give voice to some of the harshest criticisms made her uneasy and that feeling likely would have festered if Arya had stopped talking. 

“They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. You’re the best ruler we’ve had in far too long. Don’t worry about them, just prove them wrong and in time they’ll see it and shut up. If they don’t, I can always go and shut them up for you.” 

Such a serious topic to be ended with tenderness, and the promise of physically violence. Arya was so confusing. It was impossible to predict what side of her Daenerys might discover next. 

This was going in circles. “I can’t show them anything if I don’t build the orphanage and I can’t get approval for the orphanage, because everyone thinks their ideas are more valuable than mine.”

She was supposed to be enjoying a few more minutes alone with Arya. She had the younger woman pressed against her naked body in a delicious way, and they somehow ended up in the center of a political debate of sorts. It was such a waste. “Who in your court does the Realm do the most business with?”

“The Merryweathers.”

“The Merryweathers?” she repeated back. 

“From the Reach,” the Queen explained. “After I defeated Cersei, I needed a new vassal in the region to replace the Tyrells. The Merryweathers were loyal to House Tyrell and sworn to me. They expanded their holdings from Long Table to include most of the prosperous lands that had belonged to Lady Olenna. They provide King’s Landing with most of its gold and grain.” She thought for a moment and then realized she’d overlooked another valuable ally. “The Starks are large trading partners as well. 

“The Starks?” 

“Jon Snow rallied the North against the White Walkers, and then bent the knee,” she recalled, certain she wasn’t telling Arya anything she didn’t already know. Jon Snow was famous, even in the South. “The North has peace despite his death, with his sister ruling in his place, although she didn’t send a representative to court.” 

Arya’s grip on her tightened ever so slightly. “The Merryweathers then. Ask the representative from Long Table for his family’s support with your plans to improve King’s Landing, not just with the orphanage but all of it. All the dreams you have about making this place better.”

“He’ll never agree…”

Arya leaned over and stole another quick kiss. “He won’t have a choice.”

“Why not?”

As infuriating it was, trying to make sense of all this, she did get the feeling they were reaching the end and she wanted to see what Arya had been willing to spend so much of their limited time talking about. 

“Because if he doesn’t support you, you’ll no longer buy Merryweather grain.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled away from Arya’s touch. She couldn’t be serious. She thought Arya was giving her advice, but she didn’t know what she was talking about. King’s Landing could not survive without that grain, the people she wanted to help, would go hungry. “Our people would starve!”

“Why? Do the Merryweathers have the only farms in Westeros?!” she fired back, passionate for reasons Daenerys couldn’t comprehend. 

“I’d need to buy from every other house in the Reach and most of the South to feed our people,” Daenerys informed her. The expression she got in reply made it clear Arya already reached that conclusion. 

“So, you buy your grain from a lots of smaller houses instead of one. You’d gain many more allies and only one enemy. Not so bad huh?”

Suddenly the cocky woman was back, and Daenerys couldn’t deny at first glance her theory had merit. There was only one major issue as she saw it. House Merryweather depended on that gold, they wouldn’t allow Daenerys to simply give it to others. They’d be mad to give up the Realm’s business without a fight. The room was silent while she thought it through. Daenerys had to keep her eyes away from Arya’s naked upper half and her smirk or she’d get herself distracted again. “The Merryweathers wouldn’t stand for that.” 

“Exactly,” Arya said, as though she’d finally gotten Daenerys to the point, she’d been leading her to all along. “So, for the good of the house, he’ll need to support the improvements you want to make to King’s Landing, starting with that orphanage.”

As she brought the orphanage back up again, Daenerys finally understood what it was all about. She thought she was venting to a lover in a private moment, making conversation over dinner but it was more than that. Arya listened, and then did more by thinking of ways to help. She’d have to run it by Tyrion to be sure, but her tactics made sense and would finally enable her to get past the deadlock and endless debates the court thrust upon her. 

She rewarded her lover with a kiss. “Are you sure you aren’t a politician?” she asked, amused by the thought. 

Arya wasn’t smiling when she said, “By the Gods no, bite your tongue. I detest politics, but I do understand some of it.”

Daenerys didn’t want to pry into why she hated politics, sensing that would take more time than they had left. She did however want to make clear that she appreciated Arya’s efforts. “Thank you. I’ll speak to the representative right away. That was a great idea Arya and if it works, hundreds of children will be properly cared for because of it.” 

“You did that,” Arya insisted. “I just reminded you who the Queen is, that’s all.” 

Aware Arya didn’t like praise, even when it was well deserved, Daenerys let the matter drop. She met Arya for another kiss, and then another. 

They stayed that way until there was a knock on the door. “Daenerys,” Missandei said. “Your first meeting is in less than an hour.”

It was inevitably going to happen but still she hated that it did. Arya moved first. She had her pants and boots on and her shirt nearby, she just hadn’t managed to get it on yet. “I guess I should be going then.”

“You could stay…” she said quickly and without thinking. It was a visceral, instinctive response born from her desire to keep Arya close. 

There was no reply but that said plenty about how Arya felt. She watched her put her shirt on in silence. “Remember who is Queen Dany, they need you far more than you need them. There isn’t a man or woman out there you couldn’t replace on a day’s notice.”

She couldn’t let her go quite yet. “Arya…” she said hoping to stall her steps while she figured out what would follow. 

She stopped walking to the door but spoke before Daenerys could, having no such problems getting her mouth to operate. “I understand Dany, I always have. It was supposed to be one night and then I saw you at the tournament and I broke the rule. I just couldn’t walk by and say nothing. I should have but…”

Finally, Daenerys found her voice. “I’m glad you did. I wanted you too.” That admission got only a brief smile out of Arya, so Daenerys went bigger. “I wanted to see you again, I even went to the tavern, but you’d already left.”

Arya’s eyes widened when she heard this. “You went to the tavern?”

“Not for very long, as soon as I found out you were gone, I had no reason to stay.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see you,” she said, breaking it down to its most basic point. 

“You said…”

Daenerys knew all too well what she’d said. “I know, and I know my life is crazy and it’s a lot to ask, but can I maybe see you sometimes, when you aren’t busy?”

She honestly didn’t know how Arya was going to respond. The last time it was strictly sex and never seeing one another again, now Daenerys was taking a risk, to try and win more time with the woman who made her feel normal. 

“You want to see me again?” 

“Yes!” she shouted too loudly. “I know you hate this place, and you don’t like the guards and the servants and that’s fine. We can meet other places, go anywhere you want, alone, just us.”

When the answer finally came it wasn’t as bad as Daenerys feared it might be. “I’ll think about it.” And knowing Arya she meant that literally. She would think about it and decide. She was asking a lot, so she couldn’t blame her for wanting to think things over. 

“Take all the time you need.” Before they parted there was a practical matter that couldn’t be avoided. “When you decide, if you decide…” she trailed off, confident Arya would understand what was left unsaid, “how will I know?”

“I’ll find you,” Arya promised.

Missandei knocked again just as Arya was at the door. “I’ll send her in,” she said looking back to Daenerys and the two shared a long, heated look that spoke volumes. “You might want to cover up your neck, your Grace,” she jested before she left. 

When Missandei was in Arya’s place with the door closed behind her, Daenerys went to the mirror and got her first look at the damage. She counted six obvious marks on her neck and the upper part of her chest. Arya wouldn’t be the only one with plenty of reminders of their night together. Luckily the matching spots on her breasts could be covered by her dress, but her neck would take some work to conceal. Even if she had to wear scarves in the summer heat, it would be a fair trade.

R-C

It was still early, but the day was going well. Taking Arya’s advice, she convinced House Merryweather to support her efforts. To Daenerys’s surprise it happened exactly as Arya said it would. Her attempts were unsuccessful until she threatened to no longer purchase grain from Long Table. The prospect of losing their largest trading partner was sufficient motivation and a deal was struck not long after. Finally, she’d have an ally in her quest to remake the world as she wanted. For the first time since she replaced Cersei Lannister, she felt capable of succeeding. 

She hadn’t heard from the woman who taught her how to win, but she wasn’t concerned. It had only been a few days. Arya said she needed time and Daenerys was willing to let her have it. She could only guess how daunting it must be for Arya to contemplate a relationship with the Queen. 

Since her last encounter with Arya, Daenerys’s mood remained high. After their initial meeting, she’d grown frustrated not long after returning to the Red Keep but that wasn’t the case this time. Perhaps it was random or perhaps it was because she believed she’d see Arya again, either way people noticed. 

Tyrion was the first to bring it up to her directly. “You know it’s getting hard to overlook the fact that you’ve been happy of late,” he’d said. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Daenerys asked, doing what she could to feign disinterest. 

“Not at all, it’s nice to see you smile Daenerys. It just has me wondering what changed.” The answer was obvious to her. Arya happened. Tyrion wasn’t finished. “Ever since you gave the entire castle the night off, you’ve been different.”

“They deserved it,” she said a little too quickly. She’d been trying to justify her actions and had inadvertently revealed more than she intended to her Hand. As usual he missed nothing. Her exaggerated defense of her choices had told him more than her words. Was it her imagination or did his eyes remain on her neck a moment longer than usual? Missandei had helped her cover the markings as best they could but Daenerys feared everyone would see them anyway and realize how she’d spent her night free of guards. She tried to force the thought away. She was an unmarried woman, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had nothing to feel bad about. Still, she knew some wouldn’t see it that way. Leave it to Tyrion to be able to spot lust-fueled scars from a dozen paces. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did, did you?” 

“I did, thank you. The castle is buzzing with whispers about the generous Queen who gave everyone a much-needed break.”

“I’ll have to do it again then,” she said, already thinking of the next time she could be with Arya. “It might be the cheapest way to reward everyone.”

“Cheap is good, especially since the Queen will be building a new orphanage.” 

She smiled at the thought. There was a real need for the orphanage. Violence had left plenty of children alone and it was Daenerys’s responsibility as Queen to help them. She knew for a fact Sansa Stark had opened two orphanages in the North to accommodate those left without parents after the war with the Night King. It was only right she do the same in the South. “We’ll save money by having the Unsullied and the Dothraki assist with the labor,” Daenerys decided. 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Jorah asked from his spot behind her. “You need to protect yourself Daenerys.”

“I’ll be protected,” she assured him. Like Tyrion he seemed unnaturally interested in her neck, but she tried to act as if nothing was amiss. “I’ll remain in the keep if it’ll make you all feel better, but I want the people to see that when I say I’ll help, I mean it.”

“We’re already paying for it,” Tyrion chimed in. 

“Helping people takes more than gold,” she retorted fiercely. “It’s about time people saw their Queen doing more than just promising coin to fix a problem.”

Missandei added her voice to the discussion, and as she typically did provided support to Daenerys’s argument. “I’ll speak to Grey Worm about organizing the men, if it would please you, your Grace.”

She smiled to her friend. “Thank you, that would be wonderful.” 

“I’ll see to it right away,” she promised. 

Even though she said it already, she mouthed another ‘thank you’ to Missandei as they all headed off to the Queen’s next meeting.

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you have it. The second half of their date and a little bit of Daenerys finding her stride as Queen. Hope people like it, so far. 
> 
> Happy New Year
> 
> RC


	5. Chapter 5

She transitioned from the common tongue to High Valyrian with ease. “Have you heard of something called the Water Dance?” she asked Missandei as they walked down the hall side by side. It sounded so ridiculous to her. Who named something the Water Dance?

The way Missandei hesitated and gave her an uneasy look had Daenerys confused. It was called ‘the Water Dance’ wasn’t it? That’s what Arya had said. 

“It’s popular in Braavos, your Grace,” Missandei replied. They were walking again. That confirmed what she already knew but provided nothing new. Thankfully Missandei had more to share. “Those who practice are said to roam Braavos at night, with a sword, looking for trouble.” 

“Really?” It wasn’t a struggle to imagine Arya wandering the Titan City after dark. There was something predatory and inherently dangerous in her graceful movements. Did that explain her scars? “Do the city guards not stop them?”

“It’s custom,” Missandei clarified. “If one Water Dancer meets another and wishes to challenge him, the guards allow it. Everyone in Braavos knows the rules.” 

Daenerys couldn’t wrap her mind around what she was hearing. What was the point of having laws if they weren’t enforced? “What rules? How can the guards do nothing?”

“When the sun is out the city belongs to the Sealord. After, he relinquishes power to the bravos. Those who don’t want to participate tread carefully or stay inside.”

Arya definitely wasn’t the sort to cower indoors when there was excitement to be had. “So, they just fight, for no reason, to the death? I don’t understand why anyone would do that,” she admitted, thinking one person in particular. 

“Pride, gold, fame,” Missandei counted off on her fingers. “Water Dancers train tirelessly. Hours are spent mastering their technique, rain or shine. They practice to ready themselves for the next time a stranger challenges them.” 

“Have you ever seen it?” Daenerys inquired. Her time in Braavos was when she was young. Viserys and those who tended them would never have allowed her to place herself in danger. It wasn’t surprising that she wasn’t aware of this unusual tradition. 

“In my earliest months with Kraznys he sent for a Water Dance expert,” she recalled. “He paid many times more than the sum he spent to purchase me bringing the man from Braavos. He wanted him to train the Unsullied.”

“Did he?” Daenerys asked, feeling sick at the thought of her friend being purchased like a bottle of wine. It made her wish she’d gotten to Astapor sooner. 

“He was not what the Master expected. He was small, wore no armor and had only a thin sword that didn’t look capable of cutting anything.” She paused, and Daenerys could see she was going back in her mind. She didn’t rush her. “He had every boy in training there to watch and he asked one of his favorites to spar with the Braavosi and test his skill.” 

She was captivated by the story. “What happened?” 

“The first match was barely begun before it was finished. The Unsullied used a spear and shield, while his opponent stood at a strange angle with his empty hand tucked behind his back. He didn’t move until the spear was coming toward him and then he stepped to the side only at the last moment. It was so sudden I couldn’t make my eyes follow. Next thing any of us knew, he had the tip of his blade to the Unsullied’s throat.” 

Daenerys let out a chuckle. “Kraznys must have hated that.”

Missandei smiled in agreement. “He forced them to continue, again and again, growing angrier each time his soldiers failed. This man was gifted. No matter his challenger, he bested them. It was always the same, quick cuts and sharp thrusts always striking at the tiny windows of flesh between the armor. Even when Kraznys sent two or three Unsullied against him at once, he still won.”

“That’s incredible,” Daenerys remarked in wonder. She tried to envision it. The Unsullied were trained to be the best. That anyone could beat them was an accomplishment. To do so repeatedly was something greater. 

“The Unsullied were impressed,” Missandei continued, “Kraznys less so.” 

“Why?”

“He wanted his Unsullied to be strong, fearless and direct,” Missandei answered bitterly. Daenerys could tell her choice of words was a direct quote from the former Master. “It would ensure they brought in the highest price. He saw no use for the way this man fought. He thought they’d shame him if he sold warriors who spent more time dodging than killing.” 

She was beginning to understand why Arya hadn’t been willing to show her the Water Dance. “What became of this man?”

“Kraznys sent him away in disgust,” Missandei responded. “When he was gone, the Master forced the men who’d been beaten to go without food or sleep for days. The one who’d lost the first match to the Water Dancer was killed by his brothers as punishment for his failures. I never saw him again.” 

R-C

“Tell me I have nothing to worry about,” Daenerys pleaded. Missandei was braiding her hair. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” the advisor said with conviction. Their eyes met in the mirror and Daenerys smiled. Missandei was a good friend. 

It had been nearly a month since she’d last seen Arya and despite her promise of time, Daenerys was becoming impatient. She hadn’t really considered that Arya would choose not to see her again. As the days passed, doubt crept in. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” she confessed. Without stopping her task, Missandei smiled reassuringly, encouraging Daenerys to continue. “Everyone wants something from me, they always have. I loved Drogo but even he used me in his way.” 

“What do you mean?” Missandei said carefully. 

She didn’t mind her asking. Missandei hadn’t known the Khal and Daenerys rarely spoke about him. “He wanted a pretty white wife, and he got me in exchange for the army my brother needed.”

“But he loved you.” This wasn’t a question just a statement. Daenerys liked the distinction, because there was no denying it. Drogo loved her as she had him. 

“Yes, he did, but it didn’t start out that way.”

“It’s different with Arya?” she asked, bringing them back to the present. 

Daenerys could feel herself smiling before she saw it in the reflection. “She asks for nothing, wants nothing from me. I really think she means it when she says she doesn’t care that I’m the Queen.”

“And you like that?” Missandei verified. 

“It’s so refreshing,” she admitted. “Every day people come here to see me, always with intentions. They try to manipulate me to get what they want. It’s exhausting. I can’t blame Arya for not wanting to get involved in it.” 

“She will come back,” Missandei decreed, supremely confident in her estimate. 

“How can you be sure?” she asked, feeling comfortable enough in her friend’s company to reveal a fraction of her vulnerability. 

“When she saw you at the tournament she could have stayed away, but she didn’t. She waited until you were separated from the guards and then she found you. She was with you until the last possible moment and then left only when she was about to be discovered. She snuck into the castle for you.”

She felt better hearing Missandei say it. She was wise to tell her advisor everything. She couldn’t imagine how she’d remain sane if she had to endure the wait alone, with no one to talk to. “I miss her, and I barely know her.” 

“That’s not a bad…”

The conversation stopped suddenly when the door opened. They both knew who was there and why. Neither woman wanted what they were discussing to be overheard. “We need to leave if you wish to arrive on time Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah said as he poked his head around the door. 

“We’ll be right there,” Daenerys pledged. Missandei set down the comb she no longer needed. As usual her hair was flawless and her dress immaculate. Daenerys wanted to look her best. She was going to check on the orphanage. Everyone had been working hard to get things done. Her guards had been busy day and night to raise the building itself. Tyrion, Varys and the Master of Coins were responsible for ensuring it was adequately stocked and Missandei, Daenerys and a group of women from court had taken it upon themselves to meet with the Septas. She needed the perfect one to oversee everything. It was all coming together nicely, time for the Queen to make an appearance. 

“Ready?”

“Let’s go,” the Targaryen said, “the children are probably waiting.” 

R-C

Although she received daily reports on the progress it was an all together different thing to see it with her own eyes. For so long the orphanage existed only in her mind. It was a real, tangible first step in her quest to improve the world. She could see just how much effort everyone had put into her project and she was grateful. 

Unsullied and Dothraki had finished with the main building and were now working on a secondary structure that would house the Septas. Daenerys recognized several of the staff from the keep carrying in boxes. She noticed one was filled with pillows, so she guessed they were readying the beds. 

A large group of young boys were running around in the grass out front, kicking a ball and then chasing after it, only to kick it again. Most of the girls were sitting on arranged blankets, all in their finest clothes. When Daenerys and her party arrived the Septas overseeing things hurried to try and corral the children. 

As she climbed off her horse all the work stopped. The soldiers knelt and the Septas arranged the orphans in a long line. As she waved for everyone to stand Daenerys noticed one of the elderly women wiping dirt off a boy’s tattered pants. She smiled at the sight. She didn’t mind if they were dirty, she was pleased they were already having fun. 

“Your Grace,” the Septa she put in charge said formally. “I apologize, I wanted to have everything in order when you arrived but…”

She smiled kindly. “No apologies needed. Do you have everything you require?”

Daenerys wasn’t sure what to make of the surprised look she received. Was it really that unusual to have a Queen who was concerned for the welfare of her subjects, especially children? “We have more than enough, your Grace,” the Septa assured her. “You have been very generous.”

“They deserve it,” Daenerys said moving past the adults to kids.

One by one, Daenerys met with and spoke to every child. The sheer number that had relocated to occupy the newly constructed building proved how badly needed it was. When she got to the end, she directed the children forward, encouraging them to crowd around. “I brought lunch from the royal kitchen in the Red Keep!” she said in a loud, clear voice. “Who is hungry?”

As they cheered Daenerys silently wished all those she dealt with were so easily swayed. Sandwiches and juice were the least she could do for the children of people who died fighting her wars. She knew well that many of these children’s parents would have been on the opposing side of her most recent confrontation, but she didn’t care. That didn’t matter now. 

Most ran ahead to get a seat while a few stayed close to the Queen. The bravest among them were talking to her. By the time they got inside Missandei was already popular, carrying one young girl who looked to be on the verge of a nap, and holding the hand of another. 

A little boy and a girl that could have been his sister were competing for Daenerys’s attention. She did what she could to treat them fairly, speaking to them each in turn. The seats beside the Queen at the lunch table proved valuable with more than a few of the orphans fighting over them. To her delight, they seemed much more interested in her dragons than her title, asking questions about her children far more frequently than they wondered about the throne or her lack of a crown. 

She remained much longer than she originally intended, unwilling to say goodbye until it absolutely couldn’t be avoided. The orphans refused to release her until she promised to return. 

Missandei was spending an extra moment with a couple of the little girls who were taken with her, Grey Worm was preparing the horses while his Unsullied kept a perimeter outside. Tyrion had left a couple of hours earlier, insisting her had an appointment to keep and that left only Jorah as Daenerys’s protector. She preferred it that way. She didn’t want her guards to scare the kids needlessly. 

After checking another room for the Septa without success Jorah looked down the hall. “Maybe she went this way.” 

“Why don’t you go check,” Daenerys suggested. “I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” 

While Jorah turned to his right, Daenerys glanced to the left. A handful of children were sitting on the floor in a circle, while a girl of perhaps fifteen read them a story. 

She stayed to listen to the tale a few seconds. “I see you convinced the Merryweathers to support your ideas,” someone said. 

Not trusting her ears Daenerys pivoted quickly. What she saw took her breath away. Her small hand covered her mouth. It was truly the last person she expected to see. Arya stood there as beautiful as ever. She looked incredible. The sleeves of her shirt had been pushed up above her elbows, with sweat darkening the pale fabric and binding it to Arya’s muscles, a result Daenerys didn’t object to in the least. She lowered her hand from her mouth, aware she was grinning like a fool. “What are you doing here?” she asked when she finally got her mouth working again. 

“Heard the Queen was coming for a visit and wanted to see her for myself.” 

She couldn’t help it, she wanted to play along with Arya’s game. “Did she live up to your expectations?”

Slowly grey eyes dropped from her face, past her neck to her body. Arya’s gaze cut right through her, taking in every part of her before returning to where she started. “She’s full of surprises,” Arya said in a smooth, seductive voice. 

“Is that so?” Daenerys challenged, after a chuckle. 

Right on time to ruin the moment Jorah arrived with the Septa. She smiled at Daenerys and Arya in turn. “Ah, your Grace, I see you met our hardest working volunteer.”

She appraised Arya with new eyes, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Now that she was looking for it, she could see that she had a darker tan than at the tourney. “I have,” she confirmed. 

“She arrived on the day we began building saying she wished to help and hasn’t missed a day since.” 

Arya shrugged. “Just doing my part to help fulfill the Queen’s plans for the Realm.”

Daenerys was touched. While she’d been worrying about whether or not Arya would reach out to her, she’d been helping to complete the orphanage Daenerys wanted in her city. While she thought about Arya’s sweetness Daenerys became aware that everyone was looking to her to say something. “I’m sorry,” Daenerys said as her eyes flicked from face to face. “I was lost in thought a moment.” 

Arya’s smirk reminded her of the first time she saw it, when she was sitting on the floor of the tavern, awaiting the snakes. She smiled back. “The Septa just wanted to make sure everything was as you want it,” Jorah told her. 

Reluctantly she looked away from Arya and found the older woman. “It’s incredible,” she said honestly. “This is exactly what the children need.”

Missandei came in from the next room, smiling after her interactions with the orphans. Daenerys knew her friend well enough to know she didn’t want to go anymore than Daenerys did. “Ready to leave Khaleesi?” Jorah prompted. 

No, she wasn’t. “You’ve really been here every day?” she asked Arya, seeking confirmation. 

Her eyes answered before her mouth. “I had some free time.”

Had they been alone she would have asked if Arya had tired of fighting snakes, but she couldn’t, not with Jorah and the Septa nearby. “I appreciate your commitment. Thank you. It sounds to me like you’ve earned a reward. Join me in the keep for a drink?”

“Are you certain Dany?”

Before she could assure her that she was Jorah stepped forward, putting himself between the Queen and her lover. “You’re speaking to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You’ll address her with respect or…”

No! The last thing she wanted was for Arya to have that title thrust upon her. She also couldn’t allow Jorah to threaten her. “That’s enough!” she roared. She glared furiously at the knight. “You know I don’t care about titles. This woman has given her time and sweat to help see my dreams achieved. I’d say that entitles her to call me whatever she chooses.” 

“Khaleesi,” Jorah implored, his eyes downcast after her rebuke. 

She took a deliberate step around the knight. “Please forgive Jorah,” she said to Arya alone. “It’s his job to be overprotective.” 

“One can never be too careful,” Arya replied. Although the words were right, and the tone relaxed, Daenerys detected a falseness in them. Like an actor delivering an expert performance. Eyes as hard as Valyrian steel peered over Daenerys’s head to the man behind. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think Arya wanted blood. 

She hurried to salvage what she could. “Come and join me for a drink, please.” When she didn’t think she’d get the desired response she tried another method. “Surely you wouldn’t turn down a glass of expensive rum? We can discuss your plans now that the construction of the orphanage is nearly complete.” 

She knew she was coming on too strong, but what choice did she have? She didn’t want to let her slip away. “I’ll join you, if you’re sure,” Arya decided, glancing to Jorah as she agreed. 

“I am!” Daenerys insisted a little too eagerly. “We’ll meet you outside.” 

“I’ll gather my things,” she said before she disappeared. 

After a brief conversation with the Septa the Queen and her associates took their leave. It didn’t escape her notice how pleased Missandei looked with the turn of events. Daenerys had to admit, she was too. 

Outside the horses and guards were waiting. Before she approached her stallion, she reached out and took Jorah by the arm. “What were you thinking?!” she demanded to know. “Yelling at a kind woman who has been volunteering her time…”

In private now, Daenerys could tell Jorah was far less contrite than he’d seemed earlier. “I wasn’t going to let her disrespect you. You’re her Queen.”

“She wasn’t disrespecting me at all,” she said, rushing to Arya’s defense. 

“She called you ‘Dany.’”

“So, what?” she snapped. 

“You hate when people call you that.”

Perhaps she did, but Arya wasn’t ‘people,’ Arya was different. “She’s my guest,” Daenerys said with force, using all the authority and power her position and title afforded her. “Treat her as you’d treat me.”

Missandei was waiting next to her horse. “Did you know she’d be here?” she whispered, speaking in High Valyrian to keep Jorah from listening. 

“If I did,” Daenerys answered honestly. “I would have worn something nicer.” 

R-C

They rode back to the keep in relative silence. Jorah stayed at her side, even when Daenerys tried to speed up or slow down to put space between them. Arya was on a black stallion an arm’s length away, but it might as well have been a mile for how separated Daenerys felt from her. Twice she attempted to engage Arya in conversation and each time she was rebuffed, politely, but stiffly, with one or two word answers. No, this wouldn’t do at all. 

Fearing that their audience was the problem Daenerys called out to Grey Worm. “Have the Unsullied escort Missandei back to the Red Keep please!”

Trained as they were, they didn’t question her. Missandei gave her friend a final knowing smile before she followed the soldiers further down the road. When they were gone it left only Arya, Daenerys and Jorah. She’d hoped the knight would take the hint and join the troops, but she wasn’t that lucky. When he gave her a confused glance she said, “You can go with them Ser. I don’t require any further protection or counsel tonight.” 

“Khaleesi,” Jorah began. His mouth opened to say more but his eyes landed on Arya and he decided against it. Unaware or unbothered by the tension around them Arya kept staring straight ahead. “Leave us!” he instructed, speaking to Arya as if she were beneath him. 

Her lover looked at her knight as if his command amused her. For an instant she feared Arya would do as she was told, and Daenerys didn’t want that. She couldn’t believe Jorah had knowingly put an innocent woman in the middle of their disagreement. It was petty and wholly unacceptable. Arya wasn’t the one she wanted to leave. “Don’t!” she countered. “Ser Jorah, I thought I made myself clear, your assistance will not be required for the remainder of the night. I trust you can find your way back to the Red Keep without us.”

Jorah was visibly uncomfortable having this conversation in front of Arya, but Daenerys wasn’t. Normally she would have felt remorse when she saw the way Jorah’s face fell at her use of the word ‘us’ but this time the Queen felt nothing. “Please excuse us,” he said to Arya, trying a different route, as if sudden, false politeness would change Daenerys’s mind, or absolve him for his earlier rudeness. “I need to speak to the Queen privately for a moment.”

For the first time since they left the orphanage Arya’s eyes settled on Daenerys and stayed there. She was looking to the Queen for a decision, willing to stay or go depending on her wishes. Daenerys knew which one she’d prefer. “Anything you wish to say I’ll hear when I return.” She added some force to her words to make them perfectly clear. Jorah finally got the message and urged his horse ahead a few steps. The women stayed behind. When he stopped less than twenty feet from where Daenerys and Arya were, she knew he wasn’t ready to give up. “I know I promised you a drink,” she said, purposefully guiding her horse closer to Arya’s, “but would you be horribly offended if we went somewhere other than the keep?”

Her proposal caused Jorah to scoff, turning his horse as if he intended to ride in and physically force Daenerys to do as he desired. Arya’s reply came in the form of her turning her horse too. She was facing the way they’d come. Dany feared the woman had reached her limit dealing with complicated royalty. She could hardly blame her if she had. 

“Try to keep up!” Arya shouted before she and her horse reached full speed. 

Daenerys was frozen until the sound of Arya’s carefree laugh reached her ears. That propelled Daenerys to action and she called on her years spent on horseback to close the distance. She didn’t spare a glance for the frustrated knight who called out her name as she raced in the opposite direction. 

R-C

She propositioned Arya with promises of alcohol and she fully intended to make good, but Arya had other things in mind. She let the Queen chase her through the city, past a few open taverns and right out the Southern gate.

In the trees of the Kingswood Arya slowed and let Daenerys catch up. They rode side by side in silence until they reached a clearing. It was almost invisible until they were in the middle of it. This space wasn’t created by the Gods or nature alone. A pair of logs had been laid down, on opposite sides of the small space. In the center was an area devoid of grass, but colored by soot, ash and charring. Arranged in a circle, rocks were set out to contain the limits of what had once been a fire. While she stared Arya dismounted her horse and tied it to a tree. Daenerys stayed foolishly unmoving until Arya took the reigns and slowly escorted her horse to its resting place. “How did you find this?” she asked. 

Arya offered her a helping hand and she took it. She didn’t need the aid, having mastered climbing down from a horse long ago but she wanted the contact however brief and innocent. “This is home,” Arya stated simply, as they both had a slow look around. 

On the ground now, Daenerys walked around the logs, hoping to find something that would make it suitable to live in. It wouldn’t have been unreasonable to expect a tent, food, or a source of water. To her dismay it looked exactly as it appeared from her saddle. Just logs, some rocks, and a spot for a fire. “You live here?” she asked, trying to hide her disbelief. 

While Daenerys studied her surroundings, Arya began picking up stray twigs and branches, presumably for the fire. “It’s better than in there,” Arya commented casually, pointing toward King’s Landing with a thin stick. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to say, but she did know she didn’t want to upset Arya. She put her various concerns to the back of her mind and used this as an opportunity to ask a question. “When were you in the Red Keep?” While she waited for a response, she realized how someone as intelligent as Arya might avoid the question. She made a quick amendment. “Before you came for dinner, I mean?” 

She spoke as she rummaged through the pack her horse was wearing. Daenerys hadn’t noticed it before. “A long time ago.”

She stepped away from her stallion armed with a long blade with a serrated edge. Before she could ask what Arya intended to do with it, she was busy sawing through a branch on a nearby tree. Upon closer inspection Daenerys could see that many of the branches on one side had already been cut, as if Arya was systematically working her way around the tree, from bottom to top. 

“Sit,” Arya encouraged, gesturing to one of the logs. “I’ll get you a blanket and something to drink as soon as the fire’s started.” 

“Can I help?”

Arya chuckled without any honest humor. “It’s bad enough I brought you out here,” she said in a low voice. “I won’t subject you to manual labor too.” 

The way she said it, as if she was regretting her choice to bring Daenerys to see her ‘home’ was almost enough to ruin her mood. Didn’t Arya understand that she didn’t care about anything except being with her? Rather than try and explain all of that, she chose to make light of their situation instead. “Should I take offense that you are unwilling to live inside my city?”

Arya was gathering up the fallen and cut pieces of wood from the forest floor. She laughed sincerely this time and Daenerys smiled at the difference. “Take no offense, I just have a few too many memories of your current home to spend all my time there.” 

She knew she was walking on thin ice now, but Daenerys couldn’t bring herself to stop. Arya so rarely said anything significant about herself. The Queen didn’t want her openness to pass without taking full advantage. “And yet, you went into the city daily to build an orphanage.”

“Some things are worth it,” Arya said, looking directly into Daenerys’s violet eyes as she did. The Queen had been taking a lazy walk around, picking up a few pieces of loose wood to contribute to the fire but she stopped abruptly when she heard Arya’s explanation. Was it wrong of her to want those words to mean more than they did? 

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Any regrets so far?”

They were both squatted down on opposite sides of the ring of stones. “Not one,” Arya declared, before she created a spark and passed it over to the waiting wood. 

She was certain she was blushing. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

She took her seat and as promised Arya went and found a blanket for them. The thick fur was large enough to accommodate them both easily but that didn’t stop Daenerys from hoping Arya would cuddle close to her beneath it. She carried the fur in one hand and a skin in the other. “Not the fine wine you’re used to I’m afraid,” Arya said before she passed it over. 

“I’ve taken a liking to rum recently actually,” the Queen informed her subject. There was no hesitation before she tasted what Arya offered. 

Her lover gasped in mock horror at the admission. “What would all those snobs at court say if they could see you now?” she teased. 

“Fuck them!” Arya’s laugh was enough to make Daenerys want to joke more often, even at her own expense. 

She assessed the length of the log. It was more than suitable for them both to sit with plenty of space in between. The problem was, Daenerys didn’t want space. As casually as she could, she tried to slide over. It didn’t go unnoticed. “Subtle Dany, very subtle,” she remarked, repeating words she’d said to the Queen on the night they met. 

Daenerys smiled and took a moment to enjoy how unintentionally sweet Arya could be. She searched back in her mind, trying to recall a line she’d used that night too. “Sit down already, we both know you’re going to.”

“Do you now?” Arya challenged. 

Daenerys shrugged her small shoulders. “Going to stand there all night?”

“Got a problem with that?”

Daenerys knew from experience how dangerous it could be to play with Arya. She’d yet to best her lover in anything, whether it be verbal jousting, their infuriating banter of questions only or in bed. Still, she couldn’t help but play along, consequences be damned. Hoping to catch Arya off guard she held out the skin of rum. “Thirsty?”

It might have been a minor detail when Arya snatched the skin and took a drink, but Daenerys saw it as a major victory. It made her bold. “Sit down before I freeze.”

Arya gifted her with that smirk of hers. “Well, we can’t have that, can we.” 

She wanted to speak, to say something witty but her mouth ran dry. Arya was looking at her, staring actually, as if she were the only woman in the world. She shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the weather. Feebly her head shook in place of her voice. 

“What’s the punishment for letting the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms freeze?” 

“The price for such a crime would be very high,” she threatened. “Much higher than you’d likely want to pay.” 

Once the words were out, Daenerys wondered if joking about her role as Queen would do more harm than good. To her delight it didn’t. The large space Arya put between them didn’t seem unintentional. Nothing Arya did was. “Don’t forget to wiggle your toes,” she said seriously, “it’ll keep them from falling off.” 

It wasn’t particularly cold, but she wiggled her toes anyway, just because. “How do you know that?”

“Every girl and boy born in the North knows that Dany,” Arya informed her, “even the wayward ones.” 

She didn’t know which she liked better, the fact that Arya was calling her ‘Dany’ again, or that she learned something meaningful about her. “You’re from the North then?”

“I was once.”

Sensing she’d pushed Arya as far as she could tonight, Daenerys decided to make up for her limited answer with more information of her own. “I liked it there. It was my first time. I thought I knew cold before but when I was North of the Wall…”

“I heard you saved us all,” Arya provided before Dany was done. 

She felt her cheeks burning. How was it that Arya could make her feel this way? “That is a gross exaggeration,” she explained. As she spoke, she took the chance to inch a little closer to Arya. 

“Not really,” Arya disagreed. “Even if every man, woman and child in the North killed ten Wights and a White Walker we still would’ve been overrun. It was your dragons that turned things in our favor and they wouldn’t have fought without you.”

As it was in the past, praise from Arya reached a deeper part of her than it did when the same words came from someone else. She wasn’t sure what to say, until a realization struck her like a bolt. “You were there?” 

She shrugged as if her presence in a war was no big deal. “It’s where the action was,” she stated flatly. 

“You were fighting?” Daenerys clarified. Her chest was filled with panic as she thought of it. The war with the Night King had been a mixture of legend and nightmare. It was horrific, and she hated the idea of Arya being anywhere near it. She knew the Northern women took up arms beside their men, and Daenerys had no trouble picturing Arya doing so willingly but it made her uneasy, even knowing she was alright. 

Arya started blankly into the flames. “Like I said, your dragons did the hard part. The big black one saved me actually.” 

She couldn’t believe this. Drogon had saved Arya? She’d been in Winterfell for months, before, during and after the fighting and she didn’t recall seeing Arya. She surely would have remembered her if they met. The North was vast with many minor houses and small settlements, but Daenerys was disappointed she didn’t find her lover sooner. “Were you hurt?” Daenerys needed to know. With clarity she recalled what it was like to walk through the rows of bloodied and maimed men and women. Maesters worked furiously with volunteers doing what they could, but most were lost. Thousands of lives wasted, and Arya could have been one of them. She shivered again. 

Seeing her shake and misunderstanding the cause Arya slid over until she was right next to the Queen. That was all the invitation Daenerys needed. She lifted up the edge of the blanket to let Arya under and then rested her head against the taller woman’s arm. “I’m fine,” she promised, “I wasn’t seriously hurt.” 

Daenerys knew that being hurt and seriously hurt weren’t the same thing and she was certain Arya did too. It didn’t feel like the right time to press the issue. She was with Arya and that made it easy to overlook all the other things that were begging to be acknowledged. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Daenerys said, looking up at the same time Arya was glancing down. 

She lifted off the log briefly to bind their lips together. Arya’s tongue slipped past as she moaned, and a pair of strong arms gripped Daenerys tightly. This was exactly what Daenerys needed tonight. 

When the kiss was over Daenerys was straddling Arya’s lap. Instead of pulling away, she snuggled in closer. “I missed you,” she confessed in a whisper, comforted by the sound of Arya’s heartbeat. 

“Ruling seven kingdoms doesn’t fill your time?” Arya asked, playfully combing her fingers through the unbraided portions of Dany’s long hair. Without leaving her place against Arya she reached up and began to unwind her fancy hairstyle. Arya got the message and took over for her. It was so relaxing that Daenerys’s eyes grew heavy and she was tempted to sleep. 

“I can be busy and still miss you,” she said to justify her behavior. “Why if you hate King’s Landing, did you volunteer your time to build the orphanage?”

She didn’t respond until she had all of Daenerys’s hair straight and hanging loosely down her back. “It was for a good cause.”

“Thank you,” she said honestly. “That was very generous of you…”

Without looking she could hear the smirk Arya definitely wore. “I was hoping to impress the Queen,” she said before she placed a single sweet kiss on the top of Daenerys’s head. “I heard the orphanage was important to her, so I decided to help.”

Arya’s eyes were on her, so she was careful to try and hide her blatant smile. “Whatever would you do with the Queen’s favor?”

“The Dragon Queen you mean?”

Daenerys resisted the urge to open her eyes and look up. She was afraid to breathe too sharply or shift her weight. She didn’t want to end the game before she heard the answer. “Mmhmm, her. I hear she can be very generous.” 

“I hope so,” Arya replied, “I’ve always wanted to ride on a dragon.” 

She couldn’t help it, she had to know if there was any truth to Arya’s words. She was too good at keeping her voice even and her words disinterested for Daenerys to tell by ear alone. She looked and found Arya smiling down at her wickedly, her attractive face lit by firelight. 

It was too much. She moved out of Arya’s lap to get to her lips, shucking off the fur as she went. She’d pick it up later. As their tongues warred for dominance Daenerys’s hand slithered under Arya’s shirt marvelling at the heat of her uneven skin. 

Fully aware of Arya’s appreciation for force she raked her nails down her back in a slow, deliberate way. When the kiss was ending, she clamped down on her lower lip and trapped it between her teeth. 

While she waited in eager anticipation for Arya’s next move. An internal conflict played out on her lover’s face. It was as if she was debating between two things, trying to choose which to act on. Daenerys didn’t know if she was able to notice because Arya had lowered her usual walls, or if the time she’d spent with her allowed her a better understanding, either way, she was pleased by the development. 

With a muttered curse Arya leaned in and claimed her lips for a heated kiss. It ended well before Daenerys was finished. “I should probably get you back to the keep before you freeze, or your knight sends out a search party.” 

The words she said not withstanding it thrilled Daenerys to hear that Arya was about as impressed with the idea of taking her back as she was with going. Not even the thought of a search party finding her was enough to motivate her toward the horses. No, she was where she wanted to be for the time being. “Uh-uh, I want to stay right here.” A searing kiss was used to emphasize her point. 

She tried to tempt Arya by attaching her mouth to the side of her scarred neck and sucking hard. “Dany…” she tried. 

She spoke against Arya’s skin. “Take me back in the morning.” 

A firm tug on her long hair guided her mouth to Arya’s. She wound her arms around her lover’s neck and held on tight. If that wasn’t an agreement, she didn’t know what would be. A good Queen would have been considering all the stately matters she needed to attend to, a good friend would have been concerned with making sure Tyrion, Jorah and Missandei didn’t needlessly worry over her, but all Dany could think about right then was how she was desperate to stretch every possible moment she got with Arya to its limit. The rest of the world could wait until tomorrow.

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: So, now you know what Arya was doing while Dany was waiting for her to reappear. Hope people like the slow pace of this story, it’s quite a nice change for me. 
> 
> Not sure why the last chapter had the Author’s Note from the first one at the bottom. In case that happens again, I’ll reassure everyone. This has now become a full story. It’s far from finished. It’ll take a while longer for Dany to learn Arya’s secret, but it will happen. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> RC


	6. Chapter 6

She parted ways with Arya at the gate. She wanted to invite her in, to take her to the Queen’s bedchamber and keep her there indefinitely but saying so would be counterproductive. She didn’t want anything to destroy the easy back and forth she and Arya experienced when they were alone. 

Jorah stepped from a shadow, not long after she dismounted her horse. “Are you hurt!?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, as I said I’d be.”

“You couldn’t know that. That woman…”

“Meant me no harm,” Daenerys insisted. Her mind went back to the night before and how forcefully ‘that woman’ gripped Daenerys as her orgasm peaked. She’d have bruises for sure. Luckily, they were on a part of her body the knight would never see. 

“Riding off alone with her was reckless. She could have been anybody. Just because she volunteered to help build…”

She was growing weary of this. She heard Arya’s voice in her ear reminding her which of them was the Queen. “We are not discussing this any further,” she declared. “I appreciate your concern,” she exaggerated, “but in this case it is totally unnecessary.”

Daenerys knew Jorah was incapable of letting it go. She walked away quickly and engaged the first servant she encountered in conversation, effectively silencing him for the time being. 

It wasn’t a long-term plan. Jorah would bring it up again and again until he was satisfied. He wouldn’t be alone either. He was hardly the only gossip behind the Red Keep’s walls. There was little she could do short of assigning the knight to another post. He was relentless when he felt he was right, and his job gave him ample opportunity to speak to her alone. Keeping it from him would be harder than trying to empty the Narrow Sea with a spoon. He’d learn about Arya eventually, they all would if things continued, so that begged the question, why not now? She didn’t have a good excuse, beyond that she didn’t want to tell them. Just because she was Queen didn’t mean she couldn’t hold a secret or two. 

R-C 

“A moonlight ride, staying out all night, coming home in the morning with a smile. It all sounds very romantic,” Tyrion teased as they sat side by side. A pair of Dothraki were outside the door, giving Daenerys the illusion of personal space, however brief. 

Of course, Tyrion knew. Jorah probably ran to him and made a scene before she and Arya had reached her camp. She worked hard to hide her emotions under a mask. “Yes, it was quite nice,” she said, understating things drastically. 

“Far be it from me to contradict a Queen,” he began, “but you’re smiling an awful lot. More than is typical after an evening that is merely ‘nice.’” She was willing herself not to blush. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “Nice evenings typically end with you sleeping in your own bed, alone.” By the end he wore a smug grin that had Daenerys considering hitting him.

Verbally sparring with Arya had given her plenty of practice to turn things around on Tyrion. “You would know, wouldn’t you?” she countered. “How did you spend your night, or should I say, with whom?”

His hesitation was brief, but she caught it and it thrilled her. So rarely could anyone knock the Lannister off balance. “I…”

Daenerys let the moment hang between them until he began to respond and then cut him off. “Or,” she proposed, “we could focus on the documents that require my attention.”

Were her eyes betraying her when Tyrion paused and looked at her with what she thought was pride? He smiled before he picked up the next page on the pile. “The documents are rather important, your Grace.” 

She smiled, basking in her victory. “Back to work, then.”

R-C

For a day that started so well Daenerys was disappointed with how it unfolded. She’d snuck away from her guards and her responsibilities the night before to go and see Arya. They had a wonderful few hours together in Arya’s camp. So good in fact Daenerys didn’t want it to end. She tried to come up with a reasonable excuse to prolong their time together, but everything she concocted was obviously transparent. Arya was not the sort to fall for obviously transparent. It wasn’t as if Daenerys could simply say, ‘I want you to be the first thing I see when I’m done doing whatever it is the Realm demands of me today.’ 

Right from the start, the morning had been as close to perfect as Daenerys could imagine. She woke in Arya’s strong arms and remained there in blissful peace for several minutes until Arya stirred. They teased and laughed as they dressed. It was more of the same all the way back to the city. She was even planning on inviting Arya in for something to eat. Not in the dining hall of course, but in the room Daenerys had begun thinking of as ‘theirs’, the place where they shared their first meal. She allowed herself to believe Arya would have accepted her invitation if Jorah hadn’t been waiting to interfere. 

He demanded her attention with alleged ‘important, urgent matters’ and that was all Arya needed to hear before she was making up a reason to go. If Jorah and the guards weren’t in view, she would have tried to entice Arya to stay with a kiss, or ten, but it wasn’t to be. 

Once Arya had gone, Daenerys made an honest effort to tend to the issues Jorah raised, but in her opinion there wasn’t one of them that couldn’t have waited until after she and Arya ate breakfast. 

After Jorah, Tyrion replaced him at her side and in her ear. He too had urgent business that couldn’t be delayed. When it was finished, he didn’t go, instead reminding her of what was planned to prevent her from sneaking out again that night. A delegation of representatives from Dorne was expected in the late afternoon. A feast had been arranged to celebrate their arrival forcing Daenerys to play host. Truth be told the last thing Daenerys wanted to do was spend a long, elaborate meal with politicians and emissaries from Dorne or anywhere else, but they travelled a long way and she could hardly refuse. 

That was how she came to be choosing a dress for the occasion, unhappy with every available option. She felt none of the anticipation or anxiety she had when she was preparing for dinner with Arya. The contrast was striking. “Do you think they’d notice if the Queen wasn’t there?” she asked Missandei bitterly. 

“I’m afraid so,” she confirmed. “Do you not like your guests?”

“It’s not them,” she said as she tossed the dress she’d been holding onto the bed. “It’s all of it. Why does it always have to be feasts and tournaments, games and celebrations? Why can’t we just have dinner and talk like normal people?”

Daenerys knew she was rambling and taking her anger out on Missandei unfairly. The feast wasn’t the problem, nor the Dornish, rather it was the reality that her position as Queen would once again keep her from doing what she wanted to. How could she expect anyone to understand she’d rather be in the forest, eating whatever Arya happened to hunt for them in place of the five-course meal the kitchen staff had been working on for days? How could she explain she’d choose sitting under the stars, in Arya’s arms over the fine wine, the dancing and the entertainment her staff had scheduled? They’d think her as mad as her father if they learned she thought one common woman more worthy of her time than the whole of Dorne. 

“Perhaps it’ll be fun,” Missandei said in an effort to improve the Queen’s mood. 

“Before or after one of the Dornish casually mentions the benefits of marriage between our two houses?” she retorted snidely. 

From the first day of her reign it had been a running joke among those closest to her. No house great or small could visit the Red Keep and the Dragon Queen without at least one man propositioning Daenerys in hopes of marrying. Until recently the proposals were annoying, and repetitive but not enough to spark her ire. That no longer was the case and the reason for the change was obvious. Arya. 

Just as Daenerys thought her name, Missandei brought her into the conversation. “If you had a companion for the evening, it might deter them.”

The thought of walking into the feast with Arya on her arm was enough to bring a sincere smile to her face, brief as it was. If only it were that easy. “Arya would hate such an engagement. She detests everything about politics and politicians. I fear she’d stab one of our distinguished guests with her fork before the salad was done.” 

Missandei’s attractive face was comical in her horror. Daenerys could see she wasn’t sure if those words were a jest or not, and as such didn’t know if she should laugh. Honestly, Daenerys didn’t know if she was joking either. Could Arya be trusted to use her words to express her displeasure when surrounded by arrogant nobles? 

“You could ask her, she may surprise you.” 

With a shake of her head Daenerys forced the thoughts of Arya away. She needed to get ready, and so did Missandei. “The feast begins in less than two hours, you should be getting ready, not listening to me complain.”

Missandei put a comforting hand on her arm. “I’ll always have time to listen.”

She really did appreciate the offer. Tempting as it was, talking about Arya would only darken her attitude further. She needed to stop thinking about the one person who wouldn’t be in attendance tonight. “Thank you, but I’m fine. Go and get ready, I’ll meet you and we can walk down together.” 

“Can you choose a dress without me?” she asked, again trying to brighten the mood. 

Daenerys’s violet eyes landed on the silk garments spread out across her large bed. “Any recommendations?”

“Wear the one you think Arya would like best.” 

She recalled once telling Missandei that Arya didn’t care about dresses, so she held her tongue to avoid repeating herself. “Thank you for your help Missandei,” she said, gesturing to her braided hair. “I’ll see you shortly.” 

“Until then, your Grace.”

R-C

She swung the hammer and felt perverse pleasure when she heard the satisfying thud of the head against the nail. It didn’t thrill her the way swinging a sword did, but she couldn’t deny manual labor and hard work weren’t the worst things. 

The orphanage was a worthy cause. Dany wanted it to better the Realm, Arya wanted it because Dany did. Children ran around her as she worked, playing one game or another, a few were even brave enough to speak to her. She admired the courage but sent them on their way after only a few words. The orphans made her uncomfortable. Not because she’d once been them, parentless, homeless, in need of charity, but because when she looked at them, she wondered about their mothers and fathers. Was it Arya who orphaned the cute little boy with rosy cheeks and chubby legs? A girl in a faded dress had golden hair that could have made her a Lannister. Was Arya the reason she lived in the newly constructed building? 

Dany was never far from her thoughts. Seeing her when she came to tour the orphanage, spending the night with her afterward hadn’t helped. Now she was listening for soft footsteps at her back, hoping to see silver or violet from the corner of her eye. 

What was happening to her? Losing her mind over a woman, any woman wasn’t who Arya was. That Dany was a Queen only worsened the shame she wanted to feel but didn’t. She was a Faceless Man, she was No One, she could be anyone or anything she chose. So, the question remained why out of all the possibilities did she bring Arya back from the dead when Dany asked her name? It was the laugh that did it. More specifically it was the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. Every time she saw it, she understood why minstrels sang songs and wrote fables involving their newest Queen. 

It was just supposed to be a little harmless conversation. She’d been in the tavern for weeks waiting for any sign of her target and despite him being a regular, she’d yet to see him. It was another wasted night, why not distract herself with the Queen who was hiding in her own lands? 

That may have been how it started but it wasn’t the end. Dany occupied more of her mind than was healthy even as she was sending the Many Faced God a new playmate. She left the tavern then, her job complete. She should have headed for the nearest port. The world was a big place and there were corners of it she’d yet to see. Wherever she went, she’d have work. Someone of her bloody talents was always in demand. She may have left the temple but the skills she learned there remained. For reasons she didn’t examine too closely she never strayed far from King’s Landing. 

She was an adept liar, without a doubt, but she wasn’t lying when she told Dany that she decided to visit the tourney at the last minute. The part she neglected to share was that her motives for attending began and ended with sneaking looks at Dany as she oversaw the festivities. She got far more than that. 

Even their encounter at the orphanage, surrounded by children, Septas and her multitude of guardsmen had led to more. She never expected Dany would want to stay at her camp for more than a few minutes but Queen or not, she was content there. Content enough to keep coming back. Her arrival the night before was both unexpected and welcome. Arya made the most of it, certain that sooner rather than later fate would force them apart in a permanent way. 

She lined up the next nail and brought the hammer down hard. With both her hands occupied, she was holding the extra nails between her thin lips. The children’s building was done, and before week’s end the Septa’s would be complete as well. When it was, Arya would need a new method of stalking Dany. 

“Arya,” a soft voice said. There was an undercurrent running through that had the word shaking ever so slightly. It wasn’t fear. Whoever this was didn’t fear her, they did however know her name, a name she had used with only one person since her return to Westeros. She spit out the nails without care for where they’d land and pivoted, gripping the hammer tightly in her left hand. 

Deep eyes the color of chocolate widened in alarm. Arya recognized the woman as Dany’s advisor. The Queen spoke of her often and always fondly. She lowered the hammer to her side and abandoned the half-buried nail still sticking out from the wood. “Missandei, isn’t it?”

She visibly relaxed when Arya was no longer wielding the hammer like a mad-woman. The assassin smirked at the premise that she’d need anything more than her hands to dispatch one former slave to the Many Faced God. Her good mood vanished when she began to consider all the reasons Missandei might have come. “Is Dany alright?”

She nodded first and then swallowed. It bought her extra time to organize her thoughts. Arya didn’t interfere. “Yes, she’s fine.” There was another pause and she could see the Targaryen loyalist debating her next words. “She just misses you.”

Her tightly controlled anger bubbled up and then over. “She sent you to tell me that?” Arya retorted sarcastically. Surely Dany knew this wouldn’t be well received. “You can tell your Queen that if she has anything to say to me, she knows where to find me, she can say it herself.” 

Missandei recoiled from the venom she heard. “S…she doesn’t know I’m here.”

Arya studied her carefully, calling on all her years in the temple. She searched Missandei for the lie in her message and came away empty-handed. She was telling the truth. With a conscience effort to make herself less threatening and angry she set down the hammer and waved Missandei to the side, where they could speak more easily. “You serve the Queen, but she doesn’t know you’re here?”

“She misses you,” she reiterated, “she told me so.”

“Why have you come?”

She was holding her hands in front of her and twisted them up in what Arya could only assume was a nervous gesture. “We’re having a feast tonight, at the keep. Representatives from Dorne are here to negotiate with Daenerys.” 

For the first time she noticed Missandei’s clothes. As a royal advisor, she was always well-dressed in expensive silks but on closer inspection, she could see a more formal element to her attire. She wore a silver bracelet with a dragon’s head on her right wrist, one that definitely hadn’t been there when she visited the orphanage. The dress itself was black and covered only one shoulder. It was the sort Sansa would approve of. It had an elaborate, decorative chain style belt around her narrow waist that left the excess links dangling off her hip. So, the occupants of the Red Keep were gorging themselves on fine foods, what did that have do with her?

Her question must have been obvious because Missandei didn’t need to wait for it. “She wishes you could accompany her but did not want to burden you by asking.” 

Although her hearing was excellent, she doubted her ears. It took her longer than it should’ve to craft a reply. “Feasts aren’t really my kind of thing,” she said. There, simple and to the point without being rude to Dany’s friend. 

Missandei smiled, making her more attractive. “I know, she said as much, but I thought perhaps I’d ask anyway, on her behalf.” 

The quick, flat ‘no’ was on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it down. A long day of physical effort had left her dirty, sweaty and smelling terrible, yet she was considering making an appearance at a feast fit for Queens. If Dany wanted her there, she could suffer through a single night, couldn’t she? Before she could agree, a vision of her walking into the Red Keep’s crowded hall and embarrassing Dany with her presence filled her mind. No! She refused to be the reason those cunts at court gossiped about Dany. It was already widely believed the Targaryen didn’t understand Westeros. That idea would spread if the Queen sat a filthy stranger at the royal table for all to see. 

Missandei was waiting patiently for her to decide. She smiled at Dany’s friend, pleased she had someone in her life willing to go to such lengths to try and make her happy. “I would,” she said, starting with the good news, “but I don’t have clothes for a feast and I’ve been working all day.”

“She wouldn’t care about that,” Missandei said quickly. Arya suspected she was anticipating that particular excuse. “She just wants to see you.”

Another harsh refusal would have ended things cleanly enough, but Arya found herself wanting to explain, hoping the words would find their way to Dany and justify her absence. “She wouldn’t care,” Arya agreed, “but others would. You know what they say about her, that she’s a foreigner who doesn’t understand. If I go there, looking like this…”

“I could find you clothes, and you could take a bath at the keep.” 

The potential of a whole night with Dany? Tempting but impossible. “I won’t embarrass her!” Arya said forcefully. “I can’t do that to her.”

She had no desire to sit in the crowded hall and engage in boring conversation for the hours the feast would last, but she did feel a stab of disappointment when it was decided she wouldn’t get to see Dany. 

“The feast doesn’t begin for another hour or so,” Missandei informed her. “She’s in her chambers getting ready, if you wanted to see her before dinner, you could.” 

Arya could see why Dany chose to keep this woman around. She was stubborn, intelligent and had a fierce loyalty to her Queen. It was the third quality above all else that Arya found herself appreciating most. King’s Landing was a dangerous place, Arya was pleased to see Dany had at least one person in her day to day life who would put her above the politics. It was no small thing, seeking out one woman in the busy city, just minutes before an important event, to brighten the mood of her friend. It was a struggle to imagine anyone in Cersei’s life doing anything even remotely similar for her. 

She hadn’t changed her mind about attending the feast, that was out of the question, but she could, she supposed, sneak in for a brief visit before it all began. “Lead the way.” 

R-C

The knock startled her. Not because she wasn’t expecting it, but because it was too hard and loud to be Missandei. Alone, she forced herself to choose one of the many beautiful dresses available to her and put it on. It was green with gold accents and Daenerys didn’t hate the way it looked against her pale skin tone. Missandei had told her to select one Arya would like, she couldn’t help wondering if she succeeded? 

Any doubts she had about it not being Missandei were removed when a head of bouncy dark curls didn’t poke between the frame and the door to check on her. She was sitting on the end of the bed, about to slide on her shoes when a second round of knocks came, hard and fast. “I’ll be right there,” she said with a huff. Dropping her shoes, she hurried barefoot to the door, muttering under her breath the whole trip. 

As she opened the door her free hand went to her hip in hopes of showing her displeasure with being interrupted and rushed. 

Finding Arya in the hall outside her bedchambers just before she was due to host a feast was if not the last thing she expected, it was pretty damn close. She blinked to make sure it wasn’t a mistake. 

“I can go if you’re busy,” she said, good naturedly. 

Joke or not, she wasn’t willing to risk it. She grabbed her lover in a hug and held her as tightly as she could. “Don’t even think about it,” she mumbled against Arya’s chest. 

It was Arya clearing her throat that reminded her of their location. Personally, she didn’t care who saw them, but if Arya wanted privacy, she could arrange it. “Come in,” she said, taking a reluctant step back into the room and beckoning Arya to follow. 

The shock wore off, replaced by questions. “What are you doing here?” Had she snuck past the guards again? Last time she’d done it for their dinner, what was her motive this time? She quickly realized how bad that must have sounded to Arya and hurried to mend the damage. “No!” she said a little too loudly, “I didn’t mean it like that, I… I just wasn’t expecting you is all.” 

Arya was enjoying her discomfort, though it was hard to mind much. She walked to the Queen’s massive closet and stuck her head inside. “Something wrong with your closet, Dany?”

She didn’t understand at first. She was too busy enjoying the view of Arya walking across her room. She looked amazing in her simple black pants and a white shirt. Beads of sweat clung to her neck and Daenerys guessed she’d spent another day at the orphanage. The hours since she’d last seen her, seemed longer than they truly were somehow. 

It took Arya pointing openly to the dresses on the bed to illicit a response. “I couldn’t decide what to wear,” she said feebly as her cheeks burned crimson.

Arya’s laugh had her thinking up occasions to embarrass herself more often. She smiled and let Arya take a look around without interruption. “I’m not complaining, but what are you doing here?”

“Missandei said you might need a little company while she’s getting ready for the feast, I volunteered.” 

When she opened the door, she didn’t recall seeing anyone other than Arya but that didn’t guarantee Missandei wasn’t there. “Missandei went and found you?”

“At the orphanage,” Arya verified, “she thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Suddenly she realized she didn’t care how or why it happened. It had, and she was grateful. She’d thank Missandei later, now she was going to take full advantage of this unexpected gift. “Missandei is the smartest person I know.”

Arya lifted an eyebrow. “So, I should stay?”

Reaching out she took Arya’s hand and pulled her to the bed. Rather than sitting Daenerys pushed Arya down and straddled her lap, facing her. She took her lover’s face in her hands and kissed her softly. 

Every kiss was like wildfire in her veins. Arya’s calloused hands traced the exposed skin on Daenerys’s back but never went beneath the fabric, no matter how badly she willed them too. 

When she left Arya’s lips for a turn tasting her neck, she brought up their limited time together. Even so, she did nothing to stop Daenerys from beginning her feast early. “Aren’t, y…you supposed to be getting ready?”

She really was. It wouldn’t be long until someone came to collect her. Missandei knew she was with Arya, so it wouldn’t be her, but that wouldn’t stop the others. She pointed behind her back with one hand in the general direction of where she dropped her shoes. “Shoes, then I’m ready,” she mumbled against Arya’s throat. She used her teeth to try and motivate Arya to help her forget the world beyond her door. It almost worked. 

“Fuckkk!” she hissed as she tilted her head to give Dany more space. She didn’t need any more encouragement. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to ruin your hair,” Arya warned between moans. 

That hardly sounded like the worst possible outcome. She smiled wickedly. “I was actually thinking I should wear it down anyway. Go ahead.” 

There was a delay, not long but enough for Daenerys to notice. Arya was nothing if not deliberate and if she was waiting, it was because she was thinking about her actions. When Arya’s hands left her back and went up into her hair for the first time, Daenerys shivered in delight. “I like it better down anyway,” Arya informed her before she began undoing thirty minutes worth of Missandei’s work. 

After the last twist in her braid was unwound, Arya kept combing her fingers through the long silver strands. It gave Daenerys an idea. “Do you like this dress?” she said standing up and stepping back to give Arya a complete view. She twirled for effect and loved how Arya’s couldn’t look away. She didn’t even blink. 

“You look beautiful,” Arya said breathlessly. 

Daenerys’s smile only grew. That wasn’t what she asked, but she’d take it. “I’m not sure its right for tonight.” 

“You look…” Arya started to say, likely to reassure her but her words halted abruptly when Daenerys let the dress fall to her ankles. She stepped out and pretended not to notice a pair of grey eyes following her every move. 

“Maybe this one,” Daenerys said, picking one of the many dresses on the bed at random. It was a deep purple color with only one shoulder strap. She held it up in front of her naked body and waited for Arya to say something. “Well?” she encouraged. 

“Dresses aren’t really my thing,” her lover confessed with cheeks the color of the red silk she was sitting on. 

“Much better at taking them off then putting them on, huh?” Dany teased. This was the best she’d felt since separating from Arya that morning. Her smile was real and her mind clear. She wanted to stay in this moment forever. 

“We all have our talents,” Arya bantered. 

She purred in reply. “Mmm, I know all about your talents.”

Arya didn’t miss a beat. “You don’t know half of them,” she vowed with a straight face, “yet.” 

Was it too late to cancel the feast and send the Dornish back to Sunspear? Whatever they travelled thousands of miles to say, could surely wait, couldn’t it? All she wanted was Arya. Why did she have to be Queen?

When Arya stood, she secretly hoped she intended to take the choice from Daenerys and decide for her but instead of stepping forward she turned her back on the Targaryen and began to analyze the dresses on the bed. 

Not that she was opposed to the view, but she did wonder what Arya was up to. Daenerys lazily traced the muscles in her back, while she waited to see what happened next. 

She turned so quickly she nearly knocked Daenerys over. “This one,” she said holding out a dress in Daenerys’s direction. She took a moment to admire it before she removed it from the hook of Arya’s extended finger. It was a beautiful dress she’d had commissioned a month earlier. The bottom was pure white but near her waist the silk shifted into grey. The top half was mostly dyed grey with white edging down the deep V that showed off her chest. She liked the dress and considered choosing it. Ultimately, she decided against it because the color didn’t resemble Arya’s eyes enough to please her. 

Arya’s approval was the only one she needed. She was already arranging the silk to slip it on when she asked, “Why this one?”

She shrugged. “I just like it.” Daenerys knew there had to be a reason beyond that, but it didn’t matter enough to inquire further. They were almost out of time. 

Dressed again she walked over to her collection of jewelry and waved for Arya to join her. “Gold or silver?”

“Silver,” Arya answered at once. 

That immediately eliminated a large amount of her options. She had dragon pendants, dragon medallions, dragon rings, dragon bracelets and dragon pins. 

Arya came up from behind and leaned over her shoulder, getting a look at the vast collection. “I’m sensing a pattern,” she joked as she pecked at Daenerys’s cheek. 

“Which do you like?”

“Do you have anything else?”

“A few more I think…” she said, trying to recall where the others had been stored. 

“More dragons?”

She blushed when she realized the problem Arya had with her selection. “Yeah, most of them were gifts.”

They’d been doing so well, ignoring the Queen’s vast wealth, her history and her obligations. Not even the feast beginning downstairs had prevented them from being Dany and Arya for a few minutes. She felt Arya move and she wanted to cry. She held her breath in anticipation of Arya pulling away. She’d been reminded of who Dany really was, and it would shatter everything.

“This one,” Arya said softly, bringing a silver dragon necklace into the light. It was a simple, well-made piece that was expertly detailed in its engravings. 

Not trusting her voice, she settled for a nod in agreement. As she went to take the chain, Arya snatched it back. “Arya!” she reprimanded. 

“Shh!” she countered, ending Daenerys’s protest. She returned to her spot behind the Queen and gently gathered up her hair, lifting it out of the way. 

Her heart was beating so loudly she was certain Arya could hear it, she definitely could. When Arya had all her hair grouped together Daenerys reached back and held it, so that Arya could free her hands. Her knuckles brushed Arya’s in the process and she felt lightning. Steady hands centered the necklace on her throat and then brought the ends of the chain together. She clasped it easily and took a step back to signify she was done. Daenerys looked down at herself and was pleased with the result. Another opinion mattered more than hers though. “What do you think?” she asked as she twirled again. 

Arya looked uncharacteristically shy when she said, “They won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

She felt bad that Arya had come to see her, and she was leaving her to entertain her other guests. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“I understand,” she replied, and Dany believed she did. She wasn’t saying it to make Daenerys feel better, Arya wouldn’t do that. It didn’t help much but it was better than nothing. “I’m sorry I’m not the kind of woman you can take to important events like this.”

It took an extra second or two for Daenerys’s brain to comprehend the underlying meaning. Did Arya actually believe that was the reason she hadn’t invited her? She felt like a terrible person. She loved the idea of Arya joining her but hadn’t thought the common woman would be interested in attending. “Arya that’s not…”

Arya was staring off into space, thinking about something very different from the here and now. “Missandei tried to invite me but…”

“Do you want to come?” Daenerys blurted out as hope began to make an appearance in her chest. 

“Do you want me to?” she fired back. 

She couldn’t tell if Arya was toying with her or not. Now was not the time for more games. This was serious. “Don’t joke Arya. I didn’t invite you tonight because I didn’t think you’d enjoy being surrounded by politicians and nobles. If I was wrong…”

“You weren’t,” Arya told her simply. 

The disappointment she felt at the admission was real and intense. Her mind was busy trying to find a way to give Arya some peace, to prevent her from feeling bad. Daenerys didn’t care if she avoided nobles like they had Greyscale. She’d never force Arya to be anything she wasn’t. 

What came next nearly knocked the Targaryen off her feet. “I’d hate every second of it, but I’d go if you want me to.” 

Daenerys was speechless. What could she possibly say to something so sweet? Since words were in short supply, she put her mouth to better use and kissed Arya passionately, melding them together until long after her lungs burned. 

As she recovered from the kiss, she thought up a clever quip that would have been useful earlier. “I won’t make you do that, they probably aren’t even serving any rum.”

Arya played along, scoffing in mock horror. “And they call the Dothraki savages.”

She was pleased they’d found their way back to this place before she had to go. She’d take laughing together with Arya over anything waiting downstairs, but refusing wasn’t something she could do, even if she was a Queen. “We all have our burdens,” she said, trying to make light of her internal plight. 

A knock on the door came and suddenly reality couldn’t be postponed any longer. “I’m sorry to interrupt Daenerys,” Missandei said through the wood, “the feast has begun.” 

She flashed Arya an apologetic look before she answered. “Thank you Missandei, I’ll be right down.” 

Arya offered a helpful hand to keep her steady as she finally got her shoes on. “Your adoring public awaits.” 

“The exciting world of Dornish exports,” Daenerys countered, “I’ll be on the edge of my seat, I’m sure.” 

As they always did, her childish outbursts amused her lover. When her shoes were on and the outfit complete, she was pulled to Arya one final time. “Remember they need your help much more than you need theirs. King’s Landing won’t fall if it can’t get Dornish wine or spices.”

Not for the first time, Daenerys wished her decisions could be as simple as Arya made them sound. “Disrupting our business with Dorne wouldn’t benefit me in the least.” 

She kept up easily. “True, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use the relationship to your advantage. What does the Targaryen Queen want beyond an orphanage?” 

The question hung between them until Daenerys connected their mouths. She really did have to go but a few more seconds wouldn’t make that big of a difference. She was already late. 

“Why can’t lessons with Tyrion be this much fun?” she joked.

A heavy hand knocked on the door and Daenerys knew it wasn’t Missandei this time. She also knew if it was who she suspected, he wouldn’t wait long before opening the door to look inside. Arya tried to step away, to hide but Daenerys didn’t let her. “Khaleesi,” Jorah said, “is everything alright?”

“I’m just changing!” she yelled, hoping that would keep him from coming in after her. “I’ll meet you at the stairs.” 

“I best be going, before I get you in more trouble.” 

It was a long shot, but she had to try. “You could stay.” 

“Not tonight,” she declined. 

The kiss they shared to say goodbye was too short for the Queen’s liking. In fact, she resisted two distinct attempts by Arya to separate their mouths. On the third try Arya tugged free with a chuckle. “Patience Dany.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, I’m still working on that.”

There was a sparkle in her grey eyes that had Daenerys forgetting to breathe. “Good, I’ll help you practice, next time.” 

And just like that, she had something to look forward to. 

R-C

When she left that morning it definitely wasn’t there. When she finished declining a Dornish noble’s hand in marriage, it was. At first, she thought it was from him. Who else would choose that night of all nights to deliver such a gift. If it was from him, she wouldn’t be accepting it, and whoever let him into her chambers without permission would be spending time in the dungeon. 

It was there on her desk with a small note. The page was the size used to send messages by raven but had none of the tell-tale rolling around the edges that those letters always did. No, she guessed, this missive was hand-delivered. 

She overlooked the jewelry completely in favor of reading the note. She was already upset with whoever had invaded her quarters. It was a single sentence, with none of the big words and typical flourish nobles preferred. It read;

“For the days you’re Dany and not the Dragon Queen.”

There was an audible gasp as her shaking hand dropped the page. Now that she knew who left it, her anger was gone, as if it had never been there at all. She reached for the necklace. She couldn’t examine it fast enough. Daenerys no longer had to wonder how the necklace had come to be there without anyone knowing. Arya had proved capable at avoiding her guards. 

The necklace was beyond beautiful. It was simple in its design but very clearly crafted by a master. The silver chain was delicate and feminine. In the center was a long rectangle of silver with three stones arranged in a vertical line. The first and third were the same color and size, a pale purple that sparkled in the room’s light. Between them sat a gorgeous diamond, it was the largest of three and absolutely stunning. 

She had been wearing an elaborate three-tiered necklace, each level with one of the dragon heads from her sigil. When lined up properly and the space between them minimized, they formed the Targaryen mark perfectly. She’d always liked it, until that moment. She tore it off so hastily she broke the clasp. It fell to the desk and she raised the silver to replace it. 

Daenerys refused to even guess how expensive such a thing might be. How or where Arya had gotten enough money to buy her such a thing was a mystery. It was exquisite. Most meaningful was not its value but the fact that it wasn’t for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or the Last Targaryen, the Breaker of Chains or the Mother of Dragons, it was for Dany and that alone made it the most important piece she owned.

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you have it. A little from Arya’s point of view, including why she was in that tavern. This chapter was nothing like I originally intended. I was going to have Arya attend the feast, but I liked this way better. Let me know if I chose right. 
> 
> Next time, we’ll have Dany’s response to Arya’s gift and a lot more. 
> 
> Until then. 
> 
> RC


	7. Chapter 7

Sitting on the Iron Throne, awaiting the start of a meeting, she began playing with the silver around her neck. She ran the pad of her thumb down the rectangle, passing each of the gems on her way. She hadn’t realized she was doing it until Missandei spoke from the seat on Daenerys’s left. “That’s beautiful.”

She blinked back to the present with a jolt, looked at Missandei first, then the necklace and finally the room. It was busy, but everyone was engaged in their own conversations. Jorah with the Unsullied, the members of the court amongst themselves. Tyrion had yet to return, giving the women time to speak. She used High Valyrian as she often did when she was worried about their audience. “It was a gift.”

“From Arya,” Missandei guessed. 

The Queen was sure her face hung open like a fish out of water. “How…”

“You wouldn’t have worn it each of the last three days if it were from anyone else,” the advisor explained. Missandei was the smartest woman in her service, likely the smartest woman Daenerys had ever known and somehow, she still didn’t give her enough credit. She didn’t think anyone noticed. No one had commented on it. 

“She left it for me a few nights ago. I got back to my room and it was waiting for me.”

Daenerys knew Missandei’s wide smile had more to do with the romantic gesture than the gift itself. She stood and moved to get a closer look at the pendant. Daenerys lifted it off her skin carefully and held it out for Missandei to see. “Arya bought you this?” Missandei asked in awe. “How could she…”

That was a question Daenerys herself had been dying to know the answer to. “I have no idea,” she confessed. “I haven’t seen her since.” She’d been at war with herself of late trying to decide the best course of action. On one hand she loved the necklace and all that it represented, on the other, she didn’t like that Arya had spent what had to be such a large amount of money on Dany. “I know I should return it, but I don’t want to offend her, and I love it.” 

Once the necklace had been thoroughly examined Daenerys set it back into place. She moved with extreme caution, afraid to cause even accidental damage. “You care about her,” she stated factually. 

“So much,” Daenerys admitted, feeling better now that she’d said it out loud. “I wasn’t supposed to, it was just one night. Arya knew that from the start, it’s how I wanted it.” 

She didn’t continue, so Missandei prodded her to keep going. “But?”

After a deep breath she told the truth. Things she wasn’t brave enough to say to Arya yet. Some she’d even been hiding from herself. “I missed her before I made it back to the keep. When I came over the hill and saw Jorah and the Unsullied looking for me, I wanted to turn and go the other way, back to the tavern, back to Arya.” Now that she’d started talking, it didn’t seem she could stop. It just kept pouring out. “She makes me feel…” she paused to choose the appropriate word, “normal.” She chuckled fondly at a memory. “She treats me like a woman and not a Queen. Even when she’s here in the castle, she acts like it’s that small, dirty room above the tavern.”

Missandei smiled at her obviously smitten friend while saying nothing. The silence was the only opening Daenerys needed to keep rambling. “She tells me what she thinks, exactly what she thinks. It’s refreshing. I think sometimes she even forgets I’m Queen,” Daenerys remarked. Her claim was accented by a strange, short laugh that she tried to conceal. It came from the realization that she too forgot she was royalty in Arya’s company. 

Tyrion and Varys entered together in the midst of a heated debate. “Apologies, your Grace,” the spymaster said as he ducked his head. “I met Lord Tyrion on the way to see you.”

Her easy chat with Missandei faded to the background and she sat up a little straighter on her throne. “Is something the matter?”

Varys and Tyrion eyed one another to decide who would speak. Whether Varys won or lost she couldn’t tell, but he did reply. “Rumors of trouble in the North, your Grace.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“Just whispers, your Grace,” Varys informed her, “they say someone is working hard to make Sansa Stark appear incapable of leading. Others go so far as to predict an open rebellion in the coming days.” 

 

“That’s not going to happen!” the Dragon roared. Against the counsel of her advisors, she’d allowed the North to maintain its independence only because it was unified under Stark rule. Jon and Sansa had been instrumental in helping Daenerys defeat not only the Night King, but Cersei as well. She wouldn’t be Queen without them. Sansa was loyal to her and the Realm, so Daenerys saw no harm in letting her retain the title ‘Queen in the North’. A Northern ruler who wasn’t Sansa Stark or her kin would be a lot more difficult for Daenerys to tolerate. If someone took Winterfell from Sansa, it would be the opening shots of her third war since returning to Westeros. 

How could this be happening without her knowledge? It had been several years since she’d seen Sansa in person, but letters were exchanged frequently, trade was up, and all appeared well. This was the first she heard of any difficulties. “Did you know of this?!” she asked her Hand, a little too harshly. 

“I did not.”

She addressed Tyrion first. “Send a raven to Winterfell at once, ensure Sansa has everything she needs to root out this rebellion.” She didn’t wait before turning to the Spider. “Pay your ‘little birds’ double for any news from the North! I want to know who is leading the opposition and what their motives are.” 

Tyrion let the tension in the room settle before he made a suggestion. “If I may, your Grace, there is a line of people who seek an audience with you today and the Dornish are expected back from their tour of the capitol before long.” 

There never seemed to be enough hours in the day to do all that was required. It’s why she hadn’t managed to sneak away to see Arya since the night of the feast. “Send them in,” she instructed Tyrion, “then go and prepare the raven to Sansa. You can join us when you’re through.” 

“I will.”

R-C

The day had begun early and ran late. It was the first full day since the party from Dorne left to begin their long pilgrimage home. The visit had gone well. Negotiations were held, and both sides got what they wanted. An increase in the amount of trade between Dorne and the capitol would put more gold in Dornish coffers while providing King’s Landing with unique goods it couldn’t get elsewhere. She also met with two of Oberyn Martell’s surviving daughters. The eldest living Sand Snake remained in Sunspear ruling over her kingdom, but the presence of the others reinforced for Daenerys that she had Dorne’s support. When it became clear they wanted a larger presence at court than they already had, Daenerys saw an opening. In their final meeting she offered one of the Sand women two additional seats in her court, provided they join her in her efforts to better the Realm. When Obella Sand agreed, Daenerys couldn’t help but think of how proud Arya would be to see her not only playing the Great Game but winning. 

Giving two seats to Dorne was a major concession but one Daenerys could live with. Two new additions who were inclined to support her proposals would shift the balance of power in her court more substantially than a single new member could. 

“Do we have any other appointments on the calendar?” she asked her Hand as she stood and stretched her aching back. 

She must have looked tired because Tyrion set down the document he was reading and gave the Queen a smile. “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow, your Grace.”

No one needed to tell her twice. She was overdue for an important appointment. “Very well then. You can all take the remainder of the evening off. I think we are all owed some rest.” 

“I like the sound of that. Drinks in the Hand’s Tower?” Tyrion proposed. After translations a few of the assembled Blood Riders were interested, if for no other reason than the alcohol. Jorah hesitated, waiting for Daenerys to confirm she’d be in attendance before agreeing. Missandei looked to Grey Worm and after a few seconds of wordless communication they too were on board. “Excellent. Mormont, Daenerys are you going to join us?”

“Not this time,” she said. She absentmindedly twirled her pendant as she thought of the woman who had given it to her. 

When Jorah was the only one undecided he wavered.   
“Maybe later.” 

Everyone to cleared out quickly, well almost everyone. “I believe I gave you the night off Ser,” she said, working to keep her voice light. 

“Are you going to see that girl?” he asked gruffly. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” she lied. She had every intention of going to see Arya tonight. Her time entertaining the Dornish had kept them apart too long. 

“Why do you always refuse to take guards with you? What is it about this woman…”

She was glad he didn’t finish that particular thought. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Arya with a man who loved her. “Have a nice night Jorah, you’ve earned it.”

“You too Khaleesi,” he said without feeling. 

There was something in his eyes that led her to believe he wasn’t ready to give up. There was more anger than resignation. It wouldn’t be above him to follow her discretely and then announce himself at the worst possible time to ruin her evening. Daenerys refused to let that happen. “I mean it, I hope you enjoy yourself, but know this – if you follow me tonight, you’ll need to find another Queen to serve.” 

R-C

It was late, so Daenerys treaded carefully. She crept as silently as she could toward Arya’s camp, not wanting to wake her if she was already dreaming. She thought she’d been quiet until she stepped between the final trees and saw Arya. She wasn’t sleeping as Daenerys feared or even sitting by the fire with a drink in her hand. She was standing there naturally, as if she’d been expecting her Targaryen visitor all along. 

How Arya had known she was coming was a question that didn’t seem all that important. A smile stretched her face and Daenerys took off in a sprint toward her lover. She kicked off her shoes as she went, sensing they wouldn’t be needed. The necklace Arya gave her swung from side to side as she ran. Arya had her hands behind her back, but that didn’t give her pause. She launched herself at Arya with the upmost faith she wouldn’t be allowed to fall. In Arya’s arms, Daenerys hung on as though her life depended on it. She laced her arms around Arya’s neck and pushed her fingers up into the hair on the back of her head. Her legs closed around Arya’s waist like a clamp, locking them together and maximizing the amount of contact between their bodies. Gods had she missed this. She greedily attached her mouth to Arya’s. 

Daenerys used their kiss to say everything she couldn’t. She poured it all out, the long, exhausting day she’d had, the endless claims on her time, her overbearing knight, the burdens of governing and every other frustration she could think of, no matter how minor or trivial. Arya kept pace with her, kissing back the entire time, matching her intensity with ease. When Daenerys passion led to biting on Arya’s lips, she took it all without complaint, even nibbling back at Dany a time or two. 

Slowly the kiss changed. As Arya’s tongue played with hers, first in Daenerys’s mouth, then Arya’s and finally in the limited space in between, she remembered why she’d come. It had been more than just an escape from the Red Keep and her responsibilities. She’d come for Arya, to thank her for the gift she received and to enjoy time in her company. She pulled her head back slightly and sucked in air. “Thank you for my necklace, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Aware of Arya’s discomfort with praise she expected her to brush the statement aside in as few words as possible. “You’re more than just a Targaryen or a Queen. I didn’t want you to forget that.”

She looked at the chain around her neck. “I’ll always remember,” she promised. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Although she didn’t want to, she squirmed a bit, to try and convince Arya to set her down on her own feet. She shook her head and tightened her hold in reply. She was as content to hold Daenerys as Daenerys was to be held. The silence between them wasn’t at all uncomfortable. Daenerys savored it before she said, “Arya I love it, but it’s so expensive…”

She didn’t get to finish. “Don’t!” Arya said with force. “I had a few extra coins laying around. I wanted you to have it.”

She made it sound so simple. Even knowing she spent more than ‘a few coins,’ Daenerys almost let the matter drop. “It had to have cost you a fortune,” she said, hoping Arya understood the reason for her worry. It wasn’t that she didn’t like or appreciate the gesture. “I love that you bought this for me, that you thought of me, but I don’t want you going without what you need, just so I can have a pendant to wear.”

“I didn’t buy it, I had it made,” Arya corrected. 

That only made her point more necessary. Commissioning a necklace cost more than buying one that was already made. “Arya, I didn’t need…”

“Do you like it?” she asked, cutting off Daenerys’s half-hearted attempt to rebuke Arya’s generosity. 

She hoped her emotions showed on her face when she said, “Of course I do. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever been given but…” She meant it too. Not even her dragon eggs could rival the necklace Arya gave her. They didn’t have the same sentimental value. 

“Good, then just accept it and say, ‘thank you.’” 

It was an order, one Daenerys challenged anyone to defy, even a Queen such as herself. “Thank you,” she said, giving Arya a smile that admitted defeat. She still didn’t approve of Arya wasting so much gold on her, but Daenerys could sense she wasn’t going to win the argument. It was hard to prolong the fight when she had a stunning necklace to wear, and a sweet Arya to reassure her. 

“Your welcome,” she said again.

“Does it look as good on me as you imagined?” Daenerys heard herself ask. Those were words she only intended to wonder privately. Her cheeks burned as a result. 

“Better,” Arya swore with conviction. It was all Daenerys could do to let her finish the lone word before she kissed her again. 

“I missed you,” she breathed out when the kiss was over, knowing it was true. 

She was watching Arya closely as she confessed, and she was rewarded with the smirk she loved. The arms supporting her squeezed a little tighter and Dany settled in for what she hoped would be a long night spent just like this. Their next kiss was the opposite of the first. Slow and soft it still managed to set Dany on fire. How did she get so lucky?

She lost track of how long they stayed there, kissing, but eventually Arya carried the Queen toward the fire. Her bed was already set up, exactly where it had been the last time Daenerys stayed the night. A tan pelt on the bottom, a single battered pillow and two blankets. She smiled at the flood of memories. “Got room for me?”

The answer came with a quick peck on her lips before she set Daenerys down on her own feet for the first time since she arrived. Her legs were more than a little unsteady. “You don’t exactly take up a lot of space.” 

Arya backed up, glowing by the firelight, looking glorious. In that moment there was only one truth in Daenerys’s world – she wanted Arya – anything else, if it existed it all, was secondary. She reached for the straps of her dress and pushed them off her shoulders. She was naked in a blink, stepping forward with her hand out in invitation. “Coming to bed?” she asked in her most enticing voice. 

Arya’s proximity to the fire afforded Daenerys a fully lit view of the passion and hunger in her eyes. That was good, because it would have been a shame to miss even the smallest detail. She tried to memorize the way Arya’s tongue swept across her smirking lip, and the undeniably predatory stare that had every muscle below Daenerys’s stomach clenching in anticipation. 

The fact that she hadn’t rushed straight to Daenerys when the Queen made her desire known would have frustrated her with anyone else. Arya liked to make her wait. She knew from experience Arya was more than worth waiting for. Their standoff continued, and Daenerys quickly recognized it for what it was, the next in their long list of games. She could have gone to Arya, but it would have disappointed them both to end the battle so soon and with such little effort. 

A gust of wind blowing through provided her with her next idea. “Aren’t you cold?” she said, staying rooted to the spot while her instincts wanted nothing more than to throw herself at Arya as she’d done before. “Dragon blood has its perks, I’ll keep you warm.”

The widening of Arya’s smirk to a full grin told Daenerys it wouldn’t be that easy. “From the North, remember,” she said pointing to herself, “it’ll take more than a little wind to chill my bones.” One heart beat passed in silence and then two. “Besides, I’m not the one standing in the Kingswood naked.” 

The embarrassment that would be natural for anyone in her situation was quickly snuffed out. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She was with her lover, alone, and she wanted her. That wasn’t something the Queen needed to feel badly about. It also dawned on her she wasn’t naked exactly, she still had on the pendant Arya gave her. It reached halfway to her breasts, the cool silver nice on her heated flesh. Arya’s eyes landed on the necklace and stayed there. She noticed it too.

She took time to prepare her retort and did what she could to mirror Arya’s cocky expression. “Now that you mention it, I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t be the only one naked by the time we’re through.” 

“You could put your dress back on, sit by the fire and warm up,” Arya proposed. “I’ll even give you one of my blankets.” 

Violet eyes found the puddle of silk in the dirt. Putting her dress back on would be like admitting defeat and she was a Dragon, not a loser. “I was imagining other ways we could stay warm tonight, actually,” Daenerys confessed boldly. 

The change was subtle, a narrowing of her steely eyes, a band of tension running through her jaw and a pulse pounding in the side of her neck. “We?”

Never before had she had to work so hard for sex. Perhaps that was what separated sex with Arya from all her past lovers. “We, as in you and me, together,” she clarified.

She thought she was making progress when she saw Arya lean in her direction, close her eyes and take a long, deep breath. When her eyes opened however her resolve was once again strong. What came next proved it. “And what makes you think I want to be the one keeping you warm tonight, Dany?” 

Her use of the name no one else was allowed to call her, had her biting back a moan before she revealed how aroused this torture had gotten her. Weakness now wouldn’t result in the relief she ached for it would only embolden Arya to keep toying with her. She did as Arya had, closed her eyes, composed herself and then replied, “Recent history.”

Arya’s body rippled with barely concealed tension and Daenerys sensed she’d found a soft spot. She went for it with everything she had. “There was the tavern,” she began, holding up one finger to signify their original encounter, “then dinner at the keep,” she added a second finger to her growing count. “Mmm that was fun,” she purred. “Thank the Gods the walls of my chamber are so thick, or you would have woken the whole castle when you screamed my name.” 

Daenerys was a Queen. Her word was law and her choices carried weight. She affected the lives of countless people every day with the things she decided. Wars had been waged on her word, and millions lived under her graceful rule only because she permitted them to. She was the single most powerful woman in the world and yet, never in her entire life had she felt that power so intently as she did right then. Not when she brought dragons back from the dead, or when she sat on the Iron Throne for the first time. All of that paled in comparison to this. Arya was cracking right before her eyes and for once Daenerys was going to win one of their games. 

“I wasn’t the only one, if I recall correctly,” Arya reminded her, the words passing through barely parted lips. 

Rather than blush and admit the truth in her recollection Dany went for the kill. Every inch of her exposed body was hot, but she made a show of shivering. “If you aren’t going to keep me warm, I’ll have to do it myself before I freeze.” 

The time for talk was done. Like a cat she stretched her body, putting it all on display for Arya to see. Her small hands started on her neck, under her pendant, side by side. They began to rub down, spreading out as they went. They slowed as they reached her breasts, giving each of the mounds a squeeze. Her nipples hardened more than they already were as she played. The moan that echoed off the trees hadn’t been as fake as she initially intended. 

Keeping her eyes off Arya went against her every instinct but it proved worthwhile when she heard a sexy growl from her lover about the time her hands dipped below her stomach. “Mmm, it’s warm here,” she said cupping her core with one hand while the other massaged her thigh. She rocked her hips against her palm and shuddered as pleasure rattled her. She was wetter than she would have expected given that Arya had only kissed her. She was more than ready for her to join in. 

“I should probably pick up my dress, don’t you think, I mean I’ll need to wear it back to the city tomorrow?” She didn’t spare Arya a glance as she asked. She turned her back to the woman and bent down. She kept her legs straight and her ass high, wiggling it back and forth as she worked to get a non-existent spot of dirt off the silk. 

It was too quiet. There was the crackling fire and her pounding heart but nothing else to hear. No sign that Arya was enjoying or even still watching. She was about to check. Before she could Daenerys was torn off her feet hard but escorted to the ground with care. When it was over, she was lying face down on the pelt where Arya slept. Arya was over top of her. She didn’t try to hide her triumphant grin as she twisted to see Arya’s face. 

Her intention to gloat didn’t survive past Arya’s mouth finding the side of her neck. All the clever things she had planned to say following her first victory against Arya jumbled in her mind as Arya devoured her. She was moving quickly, kissing, sucking, and biting at anything she could reach. Daenerys heard herself moan. Not exactly the witty remark she imagined. 

One of Arya’s arms slid under her as she writhed. She applied pressure to the underside of the Queen’s stomach. With a grunt she had Daenerys on her knees and forearms. Arya fit her like a glove, laying over her back while staying bound to her neck. The passion stole Daenerys’s air. It was hard to believe anyone, or anything could push her composed lover over the edge so thoroughly, but she had. Within seconds of her being on her knees Arya was reaching between them. Arya moaned lewdly when she felt Dany’s wetness and didn’t delay in pushing one of her fingers in, followed soon by a second. 

Arya stayed folded over her, kissing and biting her neck in random intervals as she pumped her fingers in and out. The louder she got expressing her pleasure, the faster Arya moved. She tried to hold it back but she couldn’t and eventually she was pleading for more. 

With her orgasm approaching Daenerys began rocking back and forth, hoping to push Arya’s skilled fingers even deeper. Her longer body easily maintained the contact without pinning Dany down. It was perfection. Arya somehow knew exactly what she needed, even if Daenerys didn’t know how to ask for it. 

Her senses were being overwhelmed. Arya’s breasts rubbed against Daenerys’s bare back, separated only by the thin shirt she wore. Up and down she felt Arya’s nipples grazing her spine. The rhythm was mesmerizing, offset by Arya’s gravelly grunts and heavy pants each time she buried her fingers inside Dany. She curled them without warning and sent Daenerys bucking wildly in reply. The wicked, sexy chuckle she heard as she tried to keep from collapsing nearly wrecked her. The breasts, the fingers, the panting breaths, it was all becoming too much for Daenerys to take. Arya’s free hand chose then to reach under her and attack her clit in short, fast strokes. Daenerys didn’t stand a chance. 

“Ar…Ah…Arya!” she screamed as she erupted. 

Her nakedness and the night air not withstanding Daenerys was covered with a coat of sweat as she basked in the intensity of her climax. Beside her Arya was looking entirely too proud of herself for the Queen’s liking. After all, hadn’t she won their stand-off? 

“You really need to work on your patience,” Daenerys chastised, trying to mimic the tone Arya had used on her so many times before. “I thought it was going to take much longer than that to break you,” she lied. 

“Uh-huh,” Arya muttered, unconvinced. She ducked her head and Daenerys raised to meet her halfway. “You can tell me all about it later,” she said just before she sealed their fates with a kiss that ended all thoughts of discussion. 

R-C

Those around her wisely kept their distance. If looks could kill, she’d be the only one still alive in the whole of the Red Keep. Daenerys was beyond furious. It didn’t matter that only one man had incited her rage, she was willing and able to take it out on everyone she saw. 

She was becoming lost in her anger. Everything she heard sounded as if she was listening from underwater. There was a fog, blurring the edges of her vision. It made it hard for her to think. Every time she inhaled the air burned her nostrils. Her tongue was rough and dry against the teeth she was grinding together. She marched the length of the hall bringing her small feet down as hard as she could. If the stone crumbled under her abuse, she wouldn’t have noticed. 

How dare he?! Ronan Neesom – her lips turned down into a scowl as she pictured the middle-aged man who started all this. 

It began when a crying woman with thick black hair and olive toned skin presented herself to the Unsullied at the gate and requested an audience. There was a long line, but after spotting what appeared to be fresh bruises under her eye and on her wrists, she was escorted in. When Daenerys first laid eyes on her she could see her dress was torn in several places. 

Her name was Lena Neesom and although she tried to remain calm before the Queen, it was obvious she was distressed. “Did someone hurt you?” she asked gently, as Missandei gave Lena a cloth to dry her tears. 

Lena nodded, swallowed down a sob and told her story. She started at the beginning. She was the daughter of a smith. When she was young her father arranged her marriage to the son of a wealthy merchant. Lena confessed openly that she did not love the man her father selected and told him so, but they were married anyway. 

As she listened Daenerys felt anger on Lena’s behalf. She knew all too well what it was like to be forced into a marriage. The fact that she’d grown to love Drogo in time didn’t change the fact that Viserys had sold her like cattle. 

“I gave him two sons,” Lena said as a fresh wave of tears came. “I was a good wife, and a fine mother, even when he beat me and visited whores.” 

The delay that followed was long enough that Daenerys found Tyrion’s eye and silently wondered if she should say something. 

“Last year I met a man,” she continued, “James Waters.” Daenerys could see where this was going. Lena’s crying slowed a bit as she mentioned James and she hurried to make one thing clear. “I didn’t break my vows, I kept them, every last one.” Daenerys hadn’t been expecting that. She studied Lena’s face for any hint she was lying and saw none. “James cared for me and I him, but we were only friends.” 

Tyrion was skeptical. “Only friends?” 

“He was kind to me, never raised his voice, let alone his hand. He brought me flowers and listened to what I had to say.” Lena sensed she needed further evidence that she hadn’t betrayed her husband, so she added, “I swear before the Gods, I kept my vows.”

Daenerys couldn’t speak for anyone else, but she was inclined to believe her. That said, this tale clearly didn’t have a happy ending. She needed to hear it all. “Go on.”

“Yesterday my husband came from his shop upset. I can’t say why, I know not, but he was angry and struck me.” 

She winced in pain as she raised her left arm and kept it away from her side. Without Lena holding her torn dress together a flap of fabric fell away, exposing a portion of her side. The area Daenerys could see was almost entirely purple. Bruises layered upon bruises covered her skin. Daenerys was sickened and enraged at the same time. From the looks on the faces around her, she wasn’t the only one. 

“When James saw what he’d done to me, he was mad. He went to find Ronan.” Her frail body shook as she cried. “I begged him not to, told him I was fine, but he went anyway.”

“Did he find your husband?” 

She nodded, tears shining in her eyes. “Ronan returned this morning with blood on his clothes and demanded I wash them. When I was emptying his pockets, I found a bronze ring James always wore. I asked him about it and he did this,” she finished, gesturing to her marked eye.

Daenerys had heard enough. “Missandei, please escort Lena to one of the guest rooms and have the Maester tend to her wounds.”

“At once, your Grace.”

“Where does James live?” Tyrion asked carefully. 

“Flea Bottom,” she answered before Missandei guided her away. 

Daenerys waited until they were gone before she issued her orders. “Go to Flea Bottom and find James Waters. If he lives, I want to see him.”

Grey Worm left with a stoic nod, calling for several of his men to follow. 

“What of the husband?” Jorah wondered. 

“You’ll take a dozen Dothraki to his shop and bring this Ronan Neesom to me. I want to see how he answers his wife’s charges.” 

Within hours, her will was done. The Maester assured her that with time Lena would heal. James Waters’s body was found in a Flea Bottom alley, riddled with far more stab wounds than would be necessary to kill any man. She’d just finished informing Lena of her friend’s fate when Jorah brought Ronan in. 

On her throne again, she cut right to the heart of it. “You are accused of murder? Do you deny it?”

Ronan was a weak looking man, he had an oddly shaped nose, small beady eyes and a pale color. When he opened his mouth Daenerys’s sympathy for Lena doubled. “Deny it, why would I? The bastard was fucking my wife. I was owed justice.” 

“Would it surprise you to learn your wife denies the affair?”

He scoffed. “Of course, she does. What else is the cunt supposed to say? She can’t very well admit she was fucking him, can she?”

She had to pause to reign in her temper before she did something hasty. She really didn’t like this man. He was petty and vindictive. Not only had he abused his wife, he murdered the only person in her life who seemed to care for her. He was despicable. 

While she fumed, Tyrion picked up where his Queen left off. “So, you’re saying you bested James in fair combat? He agreed, and you settled your dispute?”

Ronan flinched slightly under her Hand’s questions and she understood why. Grey Worm had said that not only had James been unarmed, he’d been stabbed in the back, not the front. “Yes. It was my right.” 

“Little hard for James to fight you without a sword, wouldn’t you say?” Daenerys pressed, enjoying the way he squirmed. 

“Not my fault the poor prick couldn’t afford a blade. He should have thought of that before he started fucking ‘nother man’s wife!” By the time he was through his anger had turned his entire face and neck red. 

“You ambushed him, didn’t you? You stabbed him in the back instead of facing him fairly!”

Ronan threw up his hands. “Why do you care?” he snapped at the Daenerys. “Some no good bastard got gutted. How’s that any of your business?”

She sat up a little straighter in response. “I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Everything that happens in this Realm is my business.”

Typically reminding people of her authority forced them to back down but Ronan didn’t flinch. “You’re a foreign whore playing Queen.”

Tyrion threw her a sideways glance before he hurried to keep the peace. He’d seen the outcome when people pressed on Daenerys’s last nerve. It usually ended in Fire and Blood and he was trying to prevent that from happening here. “Your Grace, perhaps I could speak with our guest in private and show him the error of his ways.” 

Jorah was outraged too, albeit for a different reason. He stepped forward to exact revenge for Ronan’s insults. 

Daenerys addressed both her advisors with a single word. “Don’t.” 

“What’s wrong!?” Ronan screamed. “Don’t like the truth?!”

“Ronan Neesom for the crime of murder I find you guilty. You will remain in the dungeon until I decide how and when your sentence shall be carried out.” 

Rather than cowering in the face of his death he continued to resist. He spat on the floor halfway to Daenerys. “Go on! Why wait? Just burn me and get it over with! That’s what you fucking Targaryens do anyway right, burn people whether they’re guilty or not? How many people have you killed? Why do I deserve death while you don’t? We aren’t so different, your Grace.” He said her title with contempt and sarcasm and it made what she was feeling more debilitating. 

At Tyrion’s instruction the Dothraki dragged Ronan from the room and to the dungeon. He went kicking and screaming the whole way. cursing Daenerys and every other Targaryen he could think of. 

She heard her name being called by several different voices as she stepped down from the throne. She headed for the safety of her chambers. She needed to be alone, before she lost hold of her temper and did something rash. 

Who did Ronan Neesom think he was? What gave him the right to pass judgement on her? He was a wife-beating, murdering, son of a whore and yet he had a point. She had killed many. That she’d done so in the name of a greater good didn’t excuse it. 

Most troubling was the comparison between the Mad King and his daughter. She’d never felt closer to her father than she did when Ronan was berating her. While he was encouraging her to burn him alive, as her father would have done, Daenerys chewed on her cheek hard enough to taste blood. It was the only way she could refrain from ordering it done. She wanted him to burn. She wanted to smell the charred flesh and hear his final screams. She wanted to watch with unblinking eyes and witness every second of a human being razed to ash. He was a terrible person, but he wasn’t alone, Daenerys was right there with him, and she didn’t know how to contend with that. 

How she crammed all her emotions into her small frame, she didn’t know. As she passed a decorative wall hanging, she wanted to pull it down and stomp on it. When she saw her reflection in a golden-trimmed mirror, she wanted to shatter it with a single swing of her fist. Self-control was at a premium and it took all she had not to turn around and go straight to the dungeon where Ronan was. If he wanted her to be her father’s daughter, she could easily oblige. 

Usually her conscience could be counted on to loudly protest. To remind her why she shouldn’t give in to her worst impulses. She’d yearn to bathe the world in Fire and Blood and then remember why that wasn’t the best solution. She kept waiting for it, for that nagging voice to tell her that Ronan was going to die, not because he offended her but because he murdered an innocent man in cold blood. It never happened. If her conscience had any opinion on the subject, it was drowned out by her hate. 

She took the stairs two at a time on the way up. She couldn’t get to her chambers soon enough. In that private sanctuary she could unleash her anger and bask in the destruction that followed. No one would dare interrupt her. She’d be safely segregated, unable to hurt anyone. All she had to do was get there. 

When she threw open the door her blood of dragonfire froze solid. Her room wasn’t the meaningless collection of breakable items she needed it to be. There between the desk and the bed, with her back to the murderous Targaryen was Arya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Another chapter. Lots going on, trouble in the North, Arya and Daenerys spending a little quality time together and then Daenerys losing her temper. 
> 
> I’ve always been fascinated by the contradiction of Daenerys’s character. She wants to do good, but resorts to violence as soon as things don’t go according to plan. Part of the appeal of writing this was getting to spend so much time in Daenerys’s head, playing with that part of who she is. 
> 
> Sorry for the ending. Next chapter we’ll see if Arya can calm Daenerys down at all. To answer the questions I received, Arya is wearing her own face, which is why I haven’t let Tyrion see her yet, and Daenerys will definitely learn who Arya is in the coming chapters. 
> 
> Hope you’ll all keep reading
> 
> R-C


	8. Chapter 8

No! This couldn’t be happening. She’d done everything right. She’d spared Ronan a painful, immediate death in favor of justice. She’d ignored his obvious attempts to incite her rage and maintained her poise. She’d even remained composed as she left, not revealing her inner turmoil to those watching. She’d retreated to her chambers to be alone and the Gods still found a way to mock her efforts. They put Arya directly in her path, the person least deserving of her anger, the last person Daenerys wanted to see her like this. 

She turned when the Queen entered and flashed her a smile Daenerys couldn’t appreciate in her current state. “Sur…“ In a flash the smile was gone and Arya was closing the distance between them. Daenerys backed up in response, not wanting to be too close to Arya, afraid of what she might do. Everyone had their breaking point and hers was fast approaching. “What happened?”

She couldn’t answer with words. If she opened her mouth, there was no way Daenerys would be able to predict what might come out. She was just as likely to scream at Arya for asking, as she was to provide a coherent explanation.

Arya squatted a bit, until her eyes were level with Daenerys’s. She stopped moving forward and raised her hands. She was treating Daenerys like a wild animal. She felt like one. “Just breathe Dany.” Accompanying the instruction was a lesson on how to do what Arya was suggesting. She stared straight ahead at her dark-haired lover. Her hands remained up, and she took one, slow, deliberate breath and then another. “Just breathe, it’s going to be okay.” 

Arya’s words were smooth and soft, a sharp contrast to Daenerys’s. When she finally dared speak, she sounded strangled and raw. “Go Arya,” she pleaded, “please.”

“No, I’m not leaving you like this.”

Any other time and that would have struck Daenerys as sweet, romantic even but in her current state she scoffed bitterly at the notion that Arya had any say in the matter. How could she not understand? It wasn’t for Daenerys’s sake she was sending her away? Arya’s stubborn refusal, to just once do as she was told caused Daenerys’s anger to burn hotter than ever. She clamped her lips tightly as her mind filled with vile, hurtful things she could say to make Arya leave. 

They were in another one of their stand-offs and this time it was no game. Arya seemed to sense this too. She wasn’t smirking in silent challenge, or grinning in perceived triumph. She looked at Dany with unbridled understanding. Not concern like all those faces in the throne room had, not pity, but understanding. How, she wondered could Arya possibly understand feelings changing so rapidly Daenerys couldn’t keep them straight. 

Whether she spoke her thought aloud or Arya just guessed what was on her mind, she didn’t know. The answer was as simple as it was complicated. “I know that look well.”

Normally translating Arya’s cryptic remarks was one of Dany’s favorite pastimes. None of the natural questions that typically followed such a vague comment pierced her all-consuming rage. Luckily Arya didn’t expect any sort of reply. She was perfectly at ease despite the wild-eyed Dragon in front of her. “You want to set the world on fire and watch in burn,” she assessed accurately. “It’s all you can think about. Everything you see you want to break, every person near you, you want to kill, whether they deserve it or not.”

How she could know all that? She’d grown close to Arya sure, but close enough for her to see through Daenerys so easily? It was like she was standing inside Daenerys’s mind, picking out her most personal truths and voicing them. 

Arya chose then to take another step forward. The Queen pinned her with a threatening gaze, hoping to scare her off. “I’m not going to break,” she said, “it’s okay Dany.” When she didn’t move Arya kept up the pressure. “You can’t hurt me.” Her next step carried her close enough that Daenerys could reach out and touch her if she wanted to. “Hit me!” she encouraged, “I’m not made of glass.” 

To her everlasting shame, she considered it. It wasn’t logical. She didn’t want to hit Arya exactly, she wanted to hit everyone and everything she could. A minor distinction but one she clung to tightly. Her chaotic emotions were stretched to their limit as someone openly invited her to do what her instincts begged for. The fact that that person was Arya was largely inconsequential. Daenerys rebelled against her darkest impulses. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her sides, where they belonged. 

“What’s wrong, your Grace,” she mocked, “scared?” Words failed her, so she tried to talk with her eyes, pleading with Arya to stop this before it was too late. As she always did Arya read her perfectly. “You know I can take it,” she said, no longer teasing. “Let it out, it’s okay. It’s the only way.” 

Her muscles were clenched so hard they ached as her arm lashed out. Her fist collided awkwardly with the center of Arya’s chest. The force of the connection left a stinging sensation in her hand and she welcomed it. She wanted to feel horror at what she’d done, she tried to bring it forward, but it wouldn’t come. Disgustingly what she felt was relief. A tiny measure of the weight on her chest lifted, a speck of the fog covering her vision dulled, and it was just a little bit easier to think around her anger. 

Rather than scream or flee, Arya remained squarely in front of her, encouraging her down this dark path. “Come on Princess, you’re going to have to do better than that. I’m not some delicate flower.” 

Her next strike was harder. She pulled back and put her weight behind it. As a small mercy she opened her hand and brought her palm against Arya’s cheek. She felt ripples through her hand, all the way up to her shoulder. 

She was a Targaryen, violence and cruelty were in her blood. The relief she felt hurting someone, may have been sick, but it wasn’t unexpected. What was harder to come to terms with was Arya’s reaction. Why was she letting Daenerys do this? 

She should have stopped. It had already gone too far. She didn’t know how she’d begin to apologize for what she’d done. She’d have a lot to explain to Arya when her senses returned. 

While she tried to stop herself from continuing on, Arya nodded suggestively toward the same hand that had just slapped her. It was all the encouragement Daenerys’s dark side needed. She slapped again, harder this time, aiming for the same spot. 

It was the hardest she’d ever hit anyone. The force turned Arya’s head to an odd angle for an instant before she recovered. Arya didn’t say a word, she only cocked her head to the side wearing an expression that Daenerys couldn’t understand. She was captivated by the way Arya’s tongue massaged the inside of her mouth, causing her cheek to puff out slightly as she checked for damage. 

After what felt like a lifetime, the haze she’d been living under faded enough for Daenerys to attempt the first of what would surely be many apologies. She felt her face sag in shame and her shoulders followed, slumping forward. “Arya I’m…”

Her lover cut off what she was trying to say. “One more time, like you mean it, or I’ll bring Missandei in here to teach you how to throw a punch.” 

The progress she’d thought she was making vanished as quickly as it appeared. She was furious again, at Ronan, at Arya, at everything. She didn’t even try to talk herself out of acting on her desire, she threw her hand at Arya’s face for a third time. 

Before she could make contact, Arya caught her by the wrist. She was both relieved and upset by this development. Without warning she was moving, being pulled toward Arya by a sharp tug on her arm. From the very first night she’d known Arya was strong. There was a thinly concealed strength to her every move but until right then she’d never known quite how strong she really was. When Arya pulled on her arm with all her strength, Daenerys was powerless to resist. Even if she tried, she would have failed. Their bodies met hard and it was enough to momentarily take the air from her lungs. Unsure of what was happening she looked up into Arya’s grey eyes. What she saw there was a passion she knew well. “Let it out,” she encouraged. One heartbeat later Arya was taking her mouth hard and fast. 

As their tongues fought for dominance Daenerys tasted blood. She could only assume it came from a cut to the inside of Arya’s cheek. When Arya tried to lean back Daenerys refused to let her, biting down on her bottom lip hard to prevent her from getting away. Now that they’d started, she wasn’t ready for it to end. 

Arya pushed her back, again and again until they were at the open door. Without breaking the kiss Arya reached behind Daenerys’s back and slammed it closed loudly. Satisfied they wouldn’t be bothered she moved the other way, guiding them to the bed. 

All the frantic, needy kisses bled into one. Arya took everything she had to give, whether she teased her with her tongue or bit down hard with sharp teeth. Her hands were curled into claws, digging into the backs of Arya’s shoulders as hard as she could. It was another way to unleash her anger, like the punch or the slaps that came before. She was still upset, there was no escaping that, but now rather than bringing the world to heel, Dany’s sole focus was Arya. She let her instincts lead, helpless to refuse. 

R-C

Several bruises had already begun to form on Arya’s body as Daenerys lay awake in her lover’s arms. She had her head on Arya’s chest and was drawing pictures on her skin with the softest touch of her index finger. She knew Arya was awake without checking. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to hurt you…”

“You didn’t.”

That was hard to believe. She’d seen the marks and was confident there would be more by dawn. “I did. I was just so angry. I couldn’t think straight. That’s why I wanted you to leave.” 

“I knew what I was doing,” Arya countered. “I could have left or stopped you anytime I wanted.” 

Just like that Daenerys was angry again. Not murderously, all-consuming anger like she’d experienced hours before, but definitely unhappy. “Why didn’t you!?” she demanded to know. 

Arya’s hand was moving up her spine slowly and the Queen leaned into it as subtly as she could. Arya didn’t reply until she reached the base of her neck and began the downward stroke along the same path. “You needed to let it out,” she said, making it sound exactly that basic. “If you kept it inside it would have eaten you alive.” 

There in the dark, with her rage and lust sufficiently tamed she remembered a detail that had escaped her earlier. Arya had said she recognized Dany’s mood immediately. How, she didn’t know. She was certain she’d never lost her temper in Arya’s presence before, so how could that be? “Arya?” she asked, afraid she might shatter their fragile peace. 

“Mmhmm?” she hummed, waiting for Daenerys to continue. 

“You said you knew what was wrong with me when I first walked in, how could you…”

She didn’t need to finish. “The look on your face, it’s the same one I saw in the mirror every day for years. I know what it’s like to be so angry, that you need to make sure others feel your pain. I know how hard it can be to find a place for all that hate.” 

Dany had questions about Arya’s past, plenty of them, but they could wait. In that moment she was far too relieved someone understood her. “You do?” she verified, repulsed by the tinge of hope she heard. How sick was it to want someone she cared about it to suffer too, just so she wouldn’t be alone? 

What she heard next was so soft, that if Daenerys hadn’t been lying right next to her, she would have missed it. “My father was executed here in King’s Landing,” she explained. “I was there. I saw his mouth move as he recited one final prayer to the Old Gods and then I watched the blade fall.”

She lifted up to look in her eyes. “What? When was this? What was his crime? Arya I’m so sorry. That must have been awful. How old were you?” The questions tumbled out as she tried to comprehend how traumatic that had to have been for Arya. 

Arya didn’t appear to notice her, her grey eyes glazed over, lost to a memory. “Not old enough to stop it, not old enough to push my way through the crowd of people cheering to kill the one who ordered it, though I did try.” 

Every day she was with Arya, she revealed a little more of herself. They were small pieces, incrementally more important, that when put together built a clearer picture of how Arya had become the unique woman Daenerys adored. 

“What you felt yesterday, I felt every single day for years. I knew I needed help. It’s why I went to Braavos, to learn how to control it.”

“Did it help?” she needed to ask. If Arya could do it, perhaps she could too. 

She felt the distinct sensation of Arya dropping a kiss on the crowd of her head. “Most days.” 

This was one of the most intimate conversation she’d ever had with anyone, and not because they were naked after hours spent lost in each other. Their passion had been almost violent, but that wasn’t what compelled Daenerys to share her fears. “It scares me, feeling like that. When it’s over I wonder if that was what it was like for my father.” She swallowed down a surge of emotion that bubbled up. “I don’t want to be like him.” 

Until that moment they’d been whispering in the dark. Suddenly Arya was sitting up, bringing Dany with her. She leaned away, afraid she’d said too much and when she met Arya’s eye what she saw made it hard to think. She looked beautifully intense. “You’re nothing like your father!” she proclaimed fiercely in a clear, loud voice. When they came together for a kiss it wasn’t desperate as all the others had been that night, this was soft and in its way, more important. “Never worry about that.” 

She hoped so, but the events of the previous day were still fresh in her mind. “How do you know?”

Arya showed a rare bit of hesitation before she answered. “I grew up on stories of your father’s madness,” she said. Daenerys was listening closely to every word. Though she tried, she couldn’t resist tensing at the idea of Arya learning about her father’s misdeeds as a child. “He liked the burning, the torture, he needed it.”

A part of her wanted to ask how Arya knew that, but she was afraid of what the answer might be. Although she was too young to have known her father personally, she spoke with a certainty that Daenerys didn’t think came from exaggerated bedtime stories. “I needed it yesterday too,” she confessed quietly. 

“You stopped yourself,” Arya reminded her. “That’s the difference.” 

Had she really? She didn’t kill anyone, but was that such an accomplishment? She converted her anger into lust, taking advantage of the fact that Arya was there to be a willing recipient. She only calmed when she was too drained to keep going. What about next time? Would those she dealt with tomorrow be so lucky? They’d come too far for her to not finish. “What if it gets worse? What if…”

She was glad she didn’t get to finish that thought. Her mind could all too easily conjure up horrible things she might do while lost in a rage. Arya had an answer for her, like she always did. And as was becoming habit, it succeeded in making the Queen feel better. “Whatever happens, I’ll help you,” she promised. 

She still had a lot to think about. She didn’t know if she’d ever be as sure of herself as Arya seemed to be, but she acknowledged with a weary smile that it was enough for tonight. Using her shoulder, she nudged Arya until she was again lying flat. She returned her head to Arya’s chest and let her eyes close. Arya’s breathing lulled her to sleep and she went to her dream aware that regardless of Arya’s opinion, the events of the day would haunt her long after Arya’s bruises faded. 

R-C

What had she done? She struck Arya to release aggression unrelated to her, and then she’d taken her to bed as if nothing were unusual. In Arya’s arms, hearing her smooth voice, she allowed herself to think they could get past it. When they woke the next morning, Arya acted as if the day before hadn’t happened. She was just as quick to joke, smile and tease Daenerys as she was on any other morning. 

Once she was gone however, Daenerys began to panic. Even if Arya was willing to accept it, she didn’t want to be the kind of person who abused those she cared about. If she did, how was she any better than Ronan? Her predicament reminded her a little too much of Viserys and the days in the khalasar when she’d seen bruises on Doreah after a night in her brother’s tent. Arya was quick to forgive, but Daenerys wasn’t. 

It always upset her when she thought people were using her to try and meet some personal goal. Whether it was the men who offered marriage to raise themselves to royalty, or those who offered friendship to steer the Realm’s priorities and gold toward a cause they championed. In the wake of what happened Daenerys felt she’d used Arya, just as all those had tried to use her. It made her sick. 

Hindsight also allowed her to disappointed in herself for a whole other reason. Arya had told her about her father’s death and she’d been so tangled up in her own problems, they barely discussed it. It had to be a difficult topic for Arya to discuss with anyone. Daenerys hadn’t considered that, choosing instead to just keep on complaining about herself. Arya deserved more from her than just a one-sided relationship. 

There had to be something she could do for Arya, but what? Apologizing would be difficult if Arya refused to acknowledge the error in Daenerys’s actions. Still she had to try. 

“What do you intend to do with your prisoner?” Tyrion asked as he brought her a glass of wine. He was holding one for himself as well. She took it and set it on the table. She wasn’t thirsty. 

Since Arya left, Daenerys’s thoughts had been on her. She hadn’t considered Ronan at all. It was a challenge to see why he mattered so much in the first place. He insulted her, offended her, and compared her to her father. Was the solution to do something her father would? That hardly seemed like a sound strategy. Yesterday, his death was something she yearned for, to the exclusion of all else. She would have gladly carried out his sentence with her own hand. Today, Ronan and his crimes paled in comparison to her own. She struck and mistreated a woman who had been nothing but kind, generous, supportive and understanding. 

Before he was led away Ronan accused Daenerys of being no better than him. He wasn’t wrong. By her estimation, she was worse. He’d eventually face justice, but would she?

How was it that Arya could go to bed with her after how she behaved? Why when Daenerys had been utterly undeserving, did she share what had to be a painful memory about her father? The physical damage she’d done would fade, but more terrifying for the Queen was the emotional toll. Had she done something to their relationship that would break them apart? 

She needed to do better. She couldn’t let her anger rule over her like that again. Not if she wanted to keep Arya, and she desperately did want Arya in her life. 

“Your Grace?” Tyrion inquired, reminding her of his question. 

“Leave him in the cell,” she said, looking at the wine and then standing. “Let him rot for all I care. I have far more important things to do.” Like showing Arya she was worthy of the forgiveness she’d already been granted, for one. She just needed to decide how. 

R-C

Missandei said nothing when Daenerys told her friend what happened. Alone in her chambers, behind a closed and locked door, Daenerys held nothing back. She told the advisor how she felt when she heard what Ronan said, how she had actually been proud of herself when she got upstairs without erupting in anger and how Arya had been there to surprise her. 

Missandei’s face was sad, but her lips closed when Daenerys remembered practically begging Arya to leave. She stuck to the facts for the most part, not wanting to try and justify the inexcusable. The one exception came when she was trying to explain how Arya tried to force a confrontation. “I’m not saying it was her fault, it wasn’t. I should have been able to resist, no matter what she did.” As despicable as her actions had been, Daenerys found blaming Arya for what happened in any way even worse. She alone was responsible, Daenerys knew that, and if Missandei was going to understand, she needed to know too. 

Usually Daenerys was reluctant to share more than the basic details of her sex life with anyone, even Missandei, but in this case she spared nothing, deciding she’d need the information to make sense of how everything unfolded. 

More than once she could see Missandei wanted to speak, to ask a question or share her views but she didn’t. Daenerys appreciated that. Suffering alone with her misdeeds was probably what she deserved but telling Missandei did dull the pain a bit. 

“I treated her horribly,” she summarized when she had nothing left to tell. “I did, and she stayed.” 

“What about this morning?”

“She acted like it didn’t happen, like everything was fine,” Daenerys remembered. Every second after they collapsed, she was expecting some sort of response, but Arya was calm. It almost made her feel worse.

“Perhaps it was.” Missandei considered. “You said she’s the one who kissed you, who encouraged you, who pushed you.” 

That was all true, but that didn’t absolve Daenerys. “I still should have…” she couldn’t finish, because she didn’t know what she should have done. Whatever it was though, it didn’t involve mistreating Arya. Of that she was positive. 

“Did you feel better?” Missandei asked. “Less angry, like yourself again?”

She took time before answering to think about it. She had. In the moment, when Arya kissed her, she kissed back hard, angry. “She kept telling me she couldn’t feel it, that I needed to kiss her harder, scratch her harder. It’s like she wanted me to lose control.” 

“Maybe she did,” Missandei allowed. “Did it help?”

She was aware she hadn’t answered the actual question the first time. She hadn’t wanted to because the truth was ugly. The sick reality was that it did help. She gave everything she had to Arya, all her frustration, all her anger, all her murderous desire and she took it. She didn’t complain, or say ‘stop,’ she didn’t even say ‘ouch’ as Daenerys punished her for things Arya had no hand in. “Yes,” she confessed quietly. “I felt better after, until I started thinking about it. Now I feel worse.”

“You’re angry again?” Missandei inquired. 

Daenerys suspected her friend could tell she wasn’t. She was leading the Queen to a realization of some kind, one step at a time. “No, not angry, just ashamed of myself.”

“Do you trust Arya?”

 

This she didn’t need to think about. The answer was absolute and immediate. “Yes,” she said, even as she didn’t know what that had do with her actions. 

Missandei gave her a sad smile. “If Arya isn’t upset with you, why are you upset with yourself?”

She wanted to scream. Arya should be upset with her. She should be yelling, demanding an apology, slamming doors and refusing to see Daenerys again. She should have Daenerys on her knees begging for forgiveness and instead she’s content to act as if nothing is amiss. She refrained from saying that and replaced all of those words with, “I hurt someone I care about.”

“I think she understands. You weren’t yourself yesterday.”

“Was I not? Maybe who I was yesterday is exactly who I am,” she said, getting at the root of the problem. She worked hard to prove she was different from the last Targaryen in King’s Landing and considered herself largely successful. Perhaps she’d been too quick to hold herself above her ancestors. “I was mad at Ronan for accusing me of being just like all the other Targaryens, like my father, and instead of showing him mercy and proving him wrong, I go and hurt Arya. That was something my father would do, or my brother, but I was supposed to be different.” As she finished, she was holding back tears, barely. 

“What does Arya say?”

Again, Missandei already knew the answer. She told her about the conversation she and Arya had after, about their fathers. Regardless, she waited for the Queen to say it. “She says I’m not like my father, that I’m different.” 

“If you truly do trust her, then maybe you should believe her,” Missandei suggested.

“I feel like a monster,” she admitted feebly. “I can’t believe what I did to her.” 

“Did she treat you like a monster?”

No! Never! No matter how badly she deserved it, Arya treated her just as wonderfully as she always had. “Not once,” she answered, feeling a tiny smile curling her upper lip. 

“Try to see this the way Arya does.”

How could she do that? Irrational anger bubbled up inside her. “What? How can you say that? Arya should be just as upset as I am. How do you know what she feels?”

Missandei didn’t take offense to her outburst. She waited for Daenerys to calm. “I know because she told you, and because you told me,” she explained. “She told you she could have left. Given what you’ve told me about her, she was strong enough to stop you from hitting her, or fast enough to move, but she didn’t. When she did catch your arm, it wasn’t to harm you, only to kiss you. If she was upset, if she hadn’t already forgiven you, would she have joined you in bed?” She didn’t give Daenerys the opportunity to respond. “You told me you apologized, right?”

“Yes,” she whispered. In fact, she apologized so many times that Arya told her to stop. Could words ever make this right, even if they were sincere? 

Neither woman spoke for a minute. Daenerys was lost in thought, reliving the night before, and the morning after, counting up all her inadequate apologies. Missandei apparently was redirecting the conversation. “If Arya had a bad day and took her anger out on you, would you forgive her?”

“Yes,” she answered. Few people in her life had earned the benefit of the doubt from Dany as much as Arya had. From their first meeting she’d been exactly what the Queen needed her to be, whether it was a lover she’d never see again, a person to listen to her rant about the struggles of governing, or more recently the first person she wanted to see every morning and the last every night. 

“Would you hold it against her if she made a mistake and did something to upset you?”

“No.”

The advisor smiled in triumph. “Precisely. So, if you would forgive Arya, and not punish her, why is it so hard to believe she’d do the same for you.” 

She hated to admit it, but Missandei had a point. “It’s not the same. Arya would never physically hurt me…”

“If she did, would you be unwilling to forgive her?”

She could see what Missandei was doing. It was a truth she wasn’t fully prepared to deal with yet, but deep down she knew there wasn’t much Arya could do that Daenerys would find unforgivable. She said nothing but Missandei saw something on her face that let her know she’d received the message. “Give it time. Trust in Arya and give yourself the same consideration you would her. She cares about you.”

Her smile was a little more pronounced this time. “You barely know her.”

“When I went to the orphanage to see her,” Missandei recalled, “it was there in her eyes. Her first thought was that something had happened to you and she was worried.”

As if Daenerys needed more proof that she didn’t deserve Arya, Missandei provided it. With a deep breath she began turning her pendant over in her fingers. She wasn’t sure she could do what Missandei was recommending. She’d also find a way to show Arya that what happened was not who she was. 

“Thank you,” she said to the Summer Islander. 

Done with words, Missandei hugged her and Daenerys took comfort in not having to go through this on her own. 

R-C

Missandei was right. Daenerys had seen Arya twice since the night she sent Ronan to the dungeon. Once Arya arrived without warning, like she could somehow sense Daenerys’s uncertainty about how they left things. Daenerys was nervous, wary of every misstep. Each time she reached for Arya, she remembered striking her. Every time Arya reached for her, she saw the marks she left on her lover after their anger-fueled tryst. If Arya noticed she didn’t say. She was her typical self, confident, sexy, and relaxed. It took time, but Daenerys got lost in her eyes, pulled in by the normalcy Arya exuded. Hours passed, and she thought of her mistakes less and less, until they were trapped in the very back of her mind. Arya made it easy to forget with her playful teasing, and her genuine questions that kept Daenerys focused on the present and not the past. When Arya kissed her, there was nothing different about it. She was quick to compliment the Queen, willing to instigate contact and didn’t flinch when Dany suggested they retire to her chambers. Daenerys feared hesitation, or doubt but Arya showed no signs of either. If Dany hadn’t known better, she would have thought the night that haunted her was a nightmare. She spent the rest of the evening showing Arya how sorry she was, in the best way she could think of. She’d never heard her moan quite so loudly. 

A few days later, Daenerys surprised her. She met her at her camp, having left the Red Keep while everyone else was occupied with dinner. When she got there, Arya was eating. She didn’t seem the least bit upset by the interruption. Daenerys hurried to justify her appearance, but it was needless. While the Queen stumbled over her explanation, her lover cut the meat she was eating into two equal pieces and offered one to Daenerys. It was such a simple gesture, but meaningful. It erased all her doubts about whether or not she should have sought Arya out. 

Arya listened to her talk about her day at the keep, and when pressed, told her about finishing the Septa’s quarters at the orphanage. Arya confessed with a grin that she’d been roped into a game with the children and Daenerys laughed at the picture that brought to her mind. She wished she could have seen it. 

The meal was long over, with Daenerys cuddled up to Arya’s side on a log. She looked up into the sky and admired the first stars. She couldn’t see them from the castle. “Will you leave now?” she wondered. The orphanage was built. Knowing about Arya’s father, she understood why she avoided the capitol and hated the keep. It would be reasonable if she wanted to put some distance between her and the place that held so many negative memories. Daenerys wanted Arya close, but she wanted Arya happier more. If she’d be at peace elsewhere, Daenerys would let her go.

It was entirely unfair how much relief she felt when Arya’s arm flexed around her waist. Daenerys pressed into her side shamelessly, inhaling the woodsy scent that was all Arya, and the crisp, smoky smell of the nearby fire. There was a delay before she said, “I’m where I want to be.” 

How could Daenerys not be enamored with a woman who said such things? There was plenty more they had to sort out, so much more they still had to say to one another, but not then. Right then, everything was perfect. Daenerys sighed, turned her head to kiss Arya’s collarbone and then set her eyes back on the sky. 

R-C

“I want to do something nice for Arya,” Daenerys said as she and Missandei wandered the streets of King’s Landing. Jorah, and a group of Blood Riders were protecting them, so they avoided the common tongue as well as Dothraki.

“Like what?” Missandei chirped happily. She’d been casually looking at the goods on display but brightened at Daenerys’s words. 

“I’m not sure. She gave me this necklace and after everything that happened…” She knew she didn’t have to say anything more for Missandei to understand. She was grateful. It would be harder to keep the memories at bay if she had to discuss them in detail. 

“Would she like jewelry?” Missandei pondered.

“I don’t think so?” Daenerys replied. 

“Why not? Women like things like that, you did.” She looked suggestively to the necklace Daenerys wore. She did like it, she loved it actually, but she didn’t think Arya would be impressed by some trinket. Female or not, it just didn’t seem to suit her. 

“Arya’s different. It needs to be something more practical,” Daenerys explained. 

“Something for her house then?” Missandei prompted. “You’ve been there? What does she need?”

She stopped walking and Missandei took two steps without her before backing up to where the Queen waited. She checked her face carefully for any sign of humor. Only when she was finished did she realize that Missandei was serious. Had she never told her friend where and how Arya lived? It hadn’t been an intentional omission, it had just never come up. “That might be difficult.”

“Why?”

“Arya lives in the Kingswood,” she confessed. “She has a camp there.” Missandei’s face went from surprise to confusion to wonder. “She doesn’t really have things, in the traditional sense.” 

“You visit her in the forest?” There was no malice or ridicule in her words, just honest inquiry. 

Daenerys smiled. “It reminds me of how we lived before I came to Westeros,” she said, “in nature.” 

“You could get her a home,” Missandei proposed. “When you begin the improvements in Flea Bottom, you could arrange a house for her.” 

She knew her friend was trying to help, but Daenerys was certain Arya wouldn’t appreciate such a gift. “She doesn’t like the city,” Daenerys said, minimizing the extent of Arya’s hate.

“Because of her father,” Missandei realized as they began strolling again. Daenerys nodded and Missandei’s smile turned down. “I understand that.” 

“Do you ever wish to return to your home?” she asked. 

Missandei’s smile was back, as natural as ever. “My home is here. Perhaps one day we will go to see where I was born, but there is nothing there for me anymore.” 

“I would let you go if you wanted,” Daenerys said seriously. She always assumed Missandei knew she was free to leave, but perhaps she hadn’t been clear enough. She’d inadvertently taken her friend for granted. It was hard to imagine her life without Missandei in it. She’d been with Daenerys nearly every day since Dany took her from Astapor. She was so much more than Daenerys’s advisor, translator, or handmaiden.

“Home isn’t where you were born,” the young woman said wisely, “it’s where you belong. I’m where I belong.” There was a certainty in her voice that made it known she believed what she was saying. Daenerys wanted to believe it too. 

She thought of her last encounter with Arya. She’d asked Arya if she planned to leave the capitol city and she said something akin to what Missandei was. With Arya back on her mind she repeated Missandei’s words. Home was where you belonged. Where did Arya belong? Daenerys pictured her bedchamber in the Red Keep. She imagined the perfectly made bed messed, her Northern lover tangled in the sheets. She thought of Arya’s face, the sharp features decorated by that tempting smirk Daenerys had never seen mastered quite so well on anyone else. Was that where Arya belonged? Daenerys could hope so. 

“What does Arya need?”

She tried to come up with something, but it was hard to imagine Arya needing anything. She lived a very simple life. One that didn’t require much. What she did need, she had. Only one idea wasn’t immediately dismissed. “Rum. She could always use more rum.”

Missandei gave her a knowing smile. “I thought you said this gift was for her, not you.” 

Daenerys laughed loudly, drawing the eyes of several of her guards. “Can’t it be both?” 

R-C

It was never meant to become so complicated. She wanted to give Arya something to show her affection. Deciding to get her a gift was the easy part. The hard part proved to be choosing the right one. 

The contrast between Arya and everyone else in her life had never been more evident than when she was shopping. In the market she looked and looked but didn’t buy anything. What would Arya approve of? Anyone else, it would have been easy to pick. A pretty this, or a decorative that and the job was done. Her word was law, she could make a royal decree or arrange a favor, but Arya wouldn’t care for any of that. To Arya she wasn’t the Queen, she didn’t control the treasury or command the army, she didn’t set law, she was just Dany. 

Gold didn’t seem to be important to Arya either. She’d never seen her lover with more than a small pouch of coins. She never bought anything more expensive than rum while the Queen was there to see. She wanted to give her something she’d not only like but use. As she’d told Missandei the day before, Arya was a practical woman. A random, golden item would be wasted on her. 

She was supposed to be listening to those around her, in actuality she was fretting over Arya and her dilemma. She was struck by a stark realization, maybe nothing she could buy Arya would send the message she wanted to convey. Yes, Arya had given her a gorgeous pendant, but the gifts she showered on Dany went far beyond the one she wore around her neck. She lavished Dany in attention to show she cared. She gave herself freely in everything they did, whether it was providing wise advice and shrewd assessments, or physically laboring to build the orphanage Daenerys wanted constructed. When Dany was annoyed, Arya listened, no matter how repetitive or uninteresting her complaints. When she was angry, Arya calmed her and when she needed to forget Arya delivered oblivion. She needed to think more like Arya would. 

Although it wasn’t yet midday Daenerys had had her fill. “Tyrion,” she said, looking to her right, “is there anything pressing on our schedule this afternoon?”

He appraised her for a moment before replying. She hadn’t realized until then that she’d interrupted him in the middle of saying something. She hadn’t heard a word. “A few meetings,” he informed her. 

She wasn’t surprised. There were always more meetings. She’d be engaged in meetings until she was dead and probably after. “Surely you could handle those for me, or postpone them?” 

It wasn’t a real question and Tyrion picked up on that. “I could.” 

Daenerys was already moving. She needed to see Arya. It had been less than a week since they’d been together, but it felt like years. It was time for the separation to end. 

She was removing the silk dress fit for a Queen before the door to her chambers was fully closed. She unwound her braids and combed the silver with her fingers until it was hanging straight down her back. Standing at the mirror, she tried to tie her hair similar to the way Arya did hers. It was a poor imitation. 

A chest of drawers was hidden behind the hanging items in her closet. It was filled to the brim with rarely seen or used objects. One drawer held gifts given to commemorate her ascent to the throne, another, things from her life in Essos. In the bottom drawer, mixed in with the random items were the leather riding pants she wore as a Khaleesi. She’d put them away, knowing the Lords of Westeros wouldn’t approve of her dressing like a savage. Now, she didn’t care what they thought. 

She assessed her reflection in the full-length mirror. It had been a while since she slipped these pants on, but they still fit, though they were tighter than she remembered. As an added benefit, the leather clung to her curves like a second skin. She hoped Arya would notice. Covering her top half, she pulled on a shirt that was light brown. It was the sort of thing customary for the Dothraki but inappropriate for her new role. It left her shoulders, neck and stomach exposed, while covering her breasts just barely. 

There was something missing. Near the window was an ornate chest. It held her weapons and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened it. She knocked away the collection of dragon-themed accessories and dug deeper. She knew she’d found what she wanted when her fingers met the cold steel. It wasn’t the elaborate, golden sword she’d been given on her first days as Queen, or the Valyrian steel she carried during the wars, this was a dagger, plain and unremarkable. 

She purchased it for herself in the dark time between her husband’s death and when she rallied the Dothraki to fight for her. Jorah had been worried for her safety. He wanted to teach her the sword, but she declined. They compromised by way of the dagger. He’d given her a handful of lessons on how to use it, though she never needed to. She’d forgotten she had it. It was ideal for what she intended, though. 

She stepped carefully on her way downstairs, trying to avoid any who might ask about her plan. She breathed a sigh of relief when she arrived at the kitchen. No one would dare think to look for her there. 

She could understand the expressions her staff wore. “Y…your Grace,” a middle-aged woman said. Her apron was spotted with whatever she was making for their next meal. “Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing at all, I was just hoping you might be able to help me.”

Her uncertainty showed on her face. “Yes, of…course.”

R-C

After the kitchen, her next stop was Grey Worm. The Red Keep had hunters of course, a whole bunch of them, but none Daenerys trusted more than her Unsullied commander. He was practicing with his spear among his men when Daenerys arrived. “I need your assistance,” she told him. 

He didn’t ask why she was dressed as she was, why she was armed, or why she needed to know how to trap an animal all the sudden and for that Daenerys was glad. 

She felt like she should be taking notes as he explained the different methods for tracking and securing game. He made it sound so easy, a trait he shared with Arya. She doubted it was. 

R-C

It had sounded so right when the idea came to her. She decided to show Arya through actions how deeply she cared. It’s why she listened to instructions from the staff of the Red Keep’s kitchen about cooking, why she endured a longer lesson from Grey Worm about hunting, killing and cleaning an animal for food and why she’d even snuck into the barracks and borrowed a pair of traps. 

She didn’t know what Arya did to occupy her time now that the orphanage was built, but she did know from their extensive conversations that Arya rarely returned to her camp before dinner. Today, Daenerys intended to have everything ready when her lover came home. 

She started by setting the traps. She purposefully selected ones she understood. Small, wooden cages, with a mechanism to lower the door if an animal entered. She was ill-prepared for how fast the door closed, nearly losing a finger as she accidentally activated the gate while placing the bait. She breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled her hand back and still had all the appropriate digits. Arya never needed to hear about that. 

Luckily, the rest of her plot was safer. Even a Khaleesi knew how to start a fire, and she did with relative ease. Once the fire was burning Daenerys went around and gathered enough wood to keep the flame going all night. The last thing she wanted was for Arya to leave her side to go cut more wood. Her dagger proved sharp, despite its infrequent use. 

Since Arya’s gear was with her horse, and her horse was presumably with her, Daenerys brought along supplies. She laid out a blanket and organized the things she’d brought. It had taken the kitchen staff longer to find simple plates, and cups than it should have. Everything on hand was designed to honor her Targaryen heritage. When they presented her with the dusty objects, Daenerys looked them over; no dragons, no Targaryen sigil, no mark of the Iron Throne or the Red Keep, at all. They were perfect. Daenerys thanked them and got to work washing the dust off, not thinking how that would appear to the servants around her. 

To drink she’d brought a new, unopened bottle of rum, water and juice. Whatever they didn’t drink, she would leave with Arya to enjoy later. 

She had cheese, crackers, fruits, nuts and berries. The staff offered to prepare them for her, but she declined. She thought of what Arya would say, learning she had the food cut up for her, and decided she’d do it herself. She had time while she was waiting for an unlucky animal to spring her trap. 

As a last resort she brought along a fresh loaf of bread that was still warm, and some meat left over from last night’s dinner. If her hunt failed to produce results, she could keep Arya fed with sandwiches. 

Nerves had her hands shaking as sliced the cheese into bite-sized cubes. Arya would laugh at how silly she was behaving, she was sure. They’d had dinner together before, Daenerys had cut cheese before, so why did this time feel so different? 

Everything was almost ready. It should have occurred to her sooner, but it didn’t. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Arya wouldn’t return to the camp that night. She could be at the Red Keep waiting for her, Daenerys realized. All her efforts would be for naught, if Arya spent her night somewhere else. 

Grey Worm had told her how to skewer the captured animal to make it easier to rotate over the flame. In preparation Daenerys took a long piece of kindling and sharpened the edge to a vicious point. If the traps were empty, she could use the thin stick as a spear. The concept made her giggle like a girl. 

The first trap was empty. The lettuce remained on the trigger, the door open. Daenerys felt a wave of disappointment. Just because she had a secondary plan to keep Arya from starving didn’t mean she wanted to use it. She wanted Arya to see she was capable. It was strange. Never in her life had she felt the desire to show her worth to a potential partner in such a way. With Drogo it was unnecessary, such tasks were beneath his wife. After Drogo, it didn’t occurred to her to bother. All her lovers between Drogo and Arya were met with a confident Daenerys who knew what she wanted. She expected them to take her as she was, and they did, whether it was Daario or the collection of meaningless encounters that came after. 

She never felt a need to impress Daario. He brought her the severed heads of his friends and pledged himself to her the same night she took him to bed. There had been no challenge with him, no need for effort. She thought that was how she wanted it. Daario was full of praise, for her beauty, for her leadership, for her ambition. She didn’t realize there was another way, until Arya turned her world upside down. 

On her slow walk to the second trap she thought about her lovers, both past and present. Her months with Daario had been pleasant enough, but she always knew their feelings weren’t equal. Right from the start, he felt for her more powerfully than she did him, and she let him. Now, separated by the sea, she knew it wasn’t love, at least not for her. She took him into her bed because he was there, and he was willing, because it was easy. She was busy with her quest for the throne and had little time to devote to a man. Daario fulfilled her needs without requiring much of her focus. It seemed like the best of both worlds. He encouraged her toward King’s Landing, not knowing that would ultimately force them apart. She knew she couldn’t bring him to Westeros, not even when he offered to keep their affair a secret. If he’d forced her to choose between the Seven Kingdoms and him, he would have lost. Perhaps that why he didn’t. 

Never once did she feel with Daario the way she did in the tavern with Arya. He was incapable of making her question everything about her life the way Arya did. She couldn’t say that she would have left Arya in Essos if it had been her in Daario’s place. Rather than unsettling her, that realization gave her comfort. She’d changed since then. She learned that there was more she wanted out of life, aside from being Queen. Arya was not only the one who taught her, but the thing she craved beyond the walls of the Red Keep. 

She grinned when she saw the small rabbit in the trap. She did it. She wanted to shout. The lettuce was gone, confirming he’d been there for a while. She approached warily, afraid if she spooked him, he’d somehow escape. She picked up the trap carefully and although the rabbit tried to flee when he felt his prison move, he had nowhere to go. 

On the walk back to the camp she was busy trying to map out what else needed to be done. Grey Worm had been very clear about what was necessary to prepare a wild animal for eating. She’d need to skin it, gut it, then clean it, before cooking. She’d never done any of these things, but she hadn’t trapped a rabbit before today either, and now she had one in her arms. 

Arya’s voice was velvet as she came through the trees. “I don’t think my camp looked like this when I left this morning.” 

She almost dropped the cage. Her instinct to rush in for a hug was hard to resist. Arya was sitting on the blanket with her legs out in front, her knees straight and her arms behind her back. Her palms were flat, supporting her and she wore a cocky smirk that had Daenerys staring dumbly. She recognized her clothes as the ones Arya wore for their first dinner together. 

She reclined back onto her arms a bit more and watched Daenerys closely. “Where have you been?”

She held up the trap and the rabbit inside as proof of her success. “Getting your dinner,” she said bravely. 

She was ready for the teasing to start but Arya’s eyes softened unexpectedly, and she said, “You didn’t need to do all this.” 

She walked to the fire and set the cage down, prolonging the rabbit’s life for a few extra seconds. “I wanted to,” she said, moving to the blanket. 

“How was your day?”

Her eyes danced to the trap and she smiled. “Busy,” she said with a hint of amusement. “Lots of new things.”

Arya took a slow, purposefully look around at the camp. “I see that.” 

When she stepped onto the blanket for the first time Arya leaned forward, sitting up straighter. With her legs open, on either side of Arya’s knees she squatted down for a kiss. 

It was soft and almost gentle. There were no tongues, no teeth, but plenty of passion. Daenerys’s eyes were still closed as they separated. She hadn’t managed to recover by the time Arya said, “You look beautiful.” 

She blushed, shyly looking down at her outfit. “It’s easier to ride in this, than a dress,” she said to justify her choice. 

Arya’s face was lit by her excitement more than the fire. “Then I’m truly glad you needed your horse to get here,” she said. Her eyes swept down Daenerys’s body, taking in her attire. She felt confident then, a marked change from the shyness that struck earlier. Arya had her emotions bouncing from one extreme to the other and Daenerys didn’t want it to ever stop. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said. 

As Daenerys had, Arya looked at herself. “Had I known you were coming, I would have worn something different.”

She still didn’t understand she could wear rags for all Daenerys cared. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she confirmed, “I have fond memories of those clothes.” She punctuated her statement with another kiss. It was over too soon but Daenerys had work to do. 

She went to the trap and picked it up. She thought she’d be doing this without an audience. Arya watching had her a little self-conscious. It must have bled through. “Can I help?”

She almost said ‘yes’, if for no other reason than to ensure Arya’s meal was properly prepared but she didn’t. She set the trap down again, next to the log and then went to the blanket again. She bypassed Arya and poured her a glass of rum. “You can sit and relax,” she decreed. When she handed over the glass, her fingers brushed Arya’s and she didn’t think it was an accident. She looked to the plate of snacks. “Eat if you’re hungry. I’ll join you when I’m finished,” she promised. 

Arya sipped her rum and showed Daenerys a heart-stopping smile before she forced herself away. The rabbit. She needed to get it ready to cook. 

Sitting on the log, with the trap in her hands Daenerys was unsure of just what to do next. Grey Worm told her that cutting the animal’s throat would be the fastest, cleanest kill, but she wasn’t quite sure how to accomplish that. She could put the blade between the wood, but she’d be unable to reach the throat, unless she went up from the bottom. It’d be easier if the trap was open, but she feared the creature would escape. She took the dagger off her belt and unsheathed it. She could do this. Once the animal was dead, the rest of her duties would be much easier to carry out. 

She had the dagger lined up and was ready to push it down through the top of the trap, between two of the wooden bars that formed the cage. Before she could act, the rabbit moved, and she halted. Daenerys hadn’t heard Arya get up, but she was behind her. She could have continued but would have hit the rabbit in the rear quarter and not the neck she was aiming for. “Don’t worry about where you stab it, it’ll taste the same no matter what.” 

Arya was standing behind her, leaning over her shoulder. She anticipated her hands would take the trap or the knife and guide her next attempt, but they didn’t. She looked back and saw Arya’s hands tucked behind her casually, as they so often were. She wasn’t going to try and take over. She was going to let Daenerys do it for herself, just as she wanted. With renewed purpose she realigned her dagger and pushed down hard. She felt almost no resistance until the guard above the handle struck the trap. She’d pushed the thin blade all the way down, into the trap and into the rabbit. The helpless animal squealed as it died. The sound might have bothered her, had it not been for one primary thought that blocked out all others. She’d done it. She caught and killed their dinner. 

She was a little uncertain of her next move. The rabbit was clearly dead, but she still had fears of it scurrying away at the first opportunity. She was opening the trap’s door when Arya handed her one of the plates. “It’ll be easier to skin on something hard,” she noted. 

She was helping, but not insisting Daenerys stop. It was a subtle difference but a significant one. Daenerys was so used to people just doing things for her. Arya was willing to let her learn and help her along the way. 

Gutting the rabbit was as gross as one would expect. All her life, the catching, the killing, the gutting of the animals was done for her. She knew it took place of course, but she’d never been a part of it. Instead of wishing for her servants back, Daenerys was glad they were miles away. She wanted to do this for herself, for them. 

While she tried not to gag, Arya gathered up the rabbit’s insides in a handful of leaves and carried them away to be disposed of. She came back quickly, confirming what Daenerys knew, she had much more practice at this than the Queen. Skinning the rabbit was easier on the plate, just as Arya promised. Still, she managed to make a mess of it. Rather than finishing with one pelt as she envisioned, she separated the fur from the meat in small increments. Taking far longer than she thought was appropriate. More than once the dagger slipped, and she cut off a chunk of the meat, along with the fur. She was tempted to leave it where it was and move on, but she wanted to get this right. Holding the pelt in one hand, she carefully guided the knife between the fur and the flesh, setting the edible parts in a pile on the plate.

Arya didn’t complain once, not about her skill or the time it was taking. When she was finished Daenerys had to wipe sweat from her brow. How embarrassing, she thought, aware Arya had seen everything. Her feelings changed when her lover said, “You did better than me, my first time.” 

Somehow, she doubted that, until she looked up from the plate and saw sincerity staring back at her. “I have a new appreciation for the hunters I employ,” she admitted. 

“You’ll do better next time,” Arya assured her. She held out a hand. “I’ll get rid of the pelt, you can start cooking.” For the first time since she began preparing their dinner Arya’s eyes warned of mischief. “Unless you want to keep it.”

Daenerys assessed the mangled fur. It would be of no use to anybody and certainly nothing she’d want on display. She laughed at the prospect of taking it all back to the Red Keep. “I think I’ll manage without it.” 

As she had with the organs, Arya disappeared with the fur. While she was absent Daenerys put the small pieces of meat she’d salvaged onto the skewer she’d created. She thought one would be enough, because she assumed the rabbit would be in one piece. Now she wasn’t so sure. 

She was arranging the meat when Arya took the seat next to her on the log. With a dagger in one hand and a stick in the other. She made short work of it, sharpening the end in a few smooth strokes that had Daenerys envious. When her skewer was lined with the three largest pieces of meat she accumulated, Arya did nothing more than pass her the newly made spear to continue with the rest. 

It had been part of her plan, to chat and flirt with Arya as their meal cooked. Reality wasn’t quite so easy. Afraid she’d burn her first attempt at cooking for someone else, she remained near the fire, her face barely avoiding the flames as she tried to make sure nothing burnt beyond repair. 

Arya stayed beside her but didn’t interfere. Her only contribution to Daenerys’s attempts cooking their rabbit was when she reached for and took the hand Daenerys wasn’t using to rotate the meat. She weaved their fingers together and Daenerys smiled without looking away from the food. The conversation could wait. They had all night.

R-C

The compliments she received during their meal had Daenerys seriously questioning if she missed her calling. Maybe instead of being Queen she was fated to be working in the kitchen of the Red Keep? 

She watched Arya closely, looking for any sign the rabbit tasted wrong. Arya ate as she always did, that is to say she ate like she feared she’d never get another chance. Daenerys enjoyed her food at a more reasonable speed. While she waited for Daenerys to catch up, she lounged comfortably on the blanket, picking at the plate of treats Daenerys prepared. 

She should have guessed that Arya would make a game of it. The first time she tossed a berry into the air and caught it with her mouth it was Daenerys and not Arya who nearly choked. “Careful,” she cautioned. 

Arya smiled at her, the easy carefree smile that typically took hours to coax out from its shell. “Don’t worry, my brothers taught me to do this when I was a young.” 

She had brothers too? She knew about Arya’s mother, her sister, her father and now brothers. She took a moment to watch and saw as Arya threw a bunch of nuts into the air. She counted three, all falling from different angles at different speeds. Daenerys didn’t know what kind of food-catching education Arya’s brothers could have possibly provided, but surely she couldn’t… She didn’t get to finish her thought because Arya had already proven her wrong. With a smug, kissable grin stretching her face she held out her tongue and showed Dany she had in fact captured all three. 

How many times had she eaten in her life? Thousands, tens of thousands? Whatever the number, Daenerys had never realized just how sensual it could be to watch someone eat. She could barely guide her own food to her mouth, too captivated by Arya’s nimble fingers flipping berries into her waiting mouth. When one broke and Arya responded by sucking the dripping juice from between her fingers, it was all Daenerys could do not to moan. 

She blamed her erratic emotions on the long days she spent without Arya. If anyone told her she’d become the type of woman who couldn’t go a few days without seeing her lover, she would’ve insisted they did not know Daenerys Targaryen. She was nothing if not independent, self-reliant and strong-willed. She was fine on her own. She didn’t need a husband, a wife, or a partner of any kind. She definitely had the resolve to resist one sarcastic, cocky, blunt, sweet, infuriating, attractive, considerate, stubborn, talented, challenging woman. Until Arya it would have been true. 

Often at the castle, her meals were filled with not only food but entertainment. Dancers, minstrels, story-tellers, even the occasional juggler made appearances. She didn’t know who would be entertaining her staff in her absence tonight, but she dared anyone to find that more appealing than what Arya was doing for her audience of one. Daenerys’s final bites of rabbit had gone cold beside her. She’d forgotten they were there, as Arya enjoyed a strawberry. If she hadn’t been staring, she would have missed the flash of white as she bit down. Daenerys did the same, chewing on her bottom lip as she recalled the feel of those same sharp teeth on her skin. 

Unlike the smaller blueberry, this time the juices weren’t limited to her mouth and fingers. Juices squirted out against her mouth and one tantalizing drop slid from the edge of her mouth to her chin. Daenerys wanted to wipe it away for her. She was overrun with many, many fond memories of Arya’s tongue as she swept it across her top lip first, going from left to right and then back. Daenerys’s breathing was a little ragged as Arya’s tongue began cleaning up the lower half of the mess she made. She stretched but couldn’t reach everything. Although Daenerys brought napkins, apparently Arya wasn’t interested in using them. She wiped her mouth roughly with the back of her hand and then raised that same hand to her mouth and sucked the juice off. Daenerys was close enough to hear the slurping sounds. She couldn’t remember the last time she blinked, not wanting to miss any of this.

Arya was oblivious, enjoying her snack. At least that’s what Daenerys thought until Arya looked up from the plate and smiled proudly. Any doubt she had that Arya knew exactly what she was doing vanished when she winked. “Gotcha,” she teased. 

With a growl she didn’t know she was capable of she threw herself at Arya. They were side by side, so she didn’t have far to go, but it was the thought that counted. She flattened her chest against Arya’s the instant before their lips melded together. She was a heaving mess while Arya was as composed as ever. She even managed to move the plate out of the way, holding it to the side and keeping it level so she could accept Daenerys’s attack without spilling. It bugged her how easy Arya was making everything seem, so as she worked her tongue into her lover’s mouth Daenerys ‘accidentally’ threw her arm out, hitting the bottom of the plate in a wild gesture, sending the contents scattering over the blanket and grass. Once the plate was empty Arya wisely realized there was no longer any point in holding it and dropped it. Arya’s free hand went into the hair on the back of Daenerys’s head, causing Dany to smile against her lips. She pulled away just far enough to get the words out. “That’s better,” she said.

Arya leaned back and put more substantial space between them. Each woman took the opportunity to breathe. They stared at one another wearing identical smiles. Second passed and then they were moving again, They met in the middle. No words were needed. Daenerys understood perfectly. The game had begun. This time, she was going to make Arya beg if it killed her. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R-C
> 
> Author’s Note: I assume people are either going to love this chapter or hate it. I figured if anyone could understand and accept Dany’s need for violence it would be Arya, even if Dany didn’t realize it. I struggled trying to write Daenerys’s guilt and Arya’s nonchalance. 
> 
> Feel free to let me know how I did. 
> 
> Thanks
> 
> RC


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning with the sky lit by the sunrise Arya escorted the Queen back to her castle. It felt more like a cage. Her day improved when she invited Arya in, and the common woman agreed. Once more she was at the center of the Red Keep’s rumor mill. Every eye was on her as she passed, some whispered while others remained silent and did what they could to avert their eyes. They noticed her and by extension Arya. She glanced to her right, expecting Arya to be uncomfortable or annoyed with the attention. Instead she walked through the corridor as if she’d done it a hundred times before. Her back straight, her head high and her hands behind her. 

She had hoped she and Arya could share a private breakfast together before they parted but when she saw a trio approaching wearing a mixture of expressions, she didn’t like her chances of seeing that through. Missandei was smiling shyly, Tyrion looked intrigued and Jorah glared at Daenerys’s companion. She stopped walking to delay their arrival briefly and next to her Arya did the same. “I’m sorry,” she whispered in anticipation of what would be next. 

“I should probably be going,” Arya said, “you’re in demand this morning.”

She rolled her eyes. “They can wait until I’ve had something to eat at least,” she countered, aware of how unlikely it was. 

Arya’s smirk was unexpected. “I don’t know,” she played, “your knight looks pissed.”

The distance between their inquisitors and them was shrinking rapidly, as was Daenerys’s time with Arya. Still, Daenerys bantered back. “He always looks like that,” she whispered conspiratorially. 

When Arya laughed everything around them disappeared. Daenerys was elated they could still joke, in this place, surrounded by so many. 

“Welcome back your Grace,” Tyrion said. It didn’t escape Daenerys that Arya’s laugh died short and her smile vanished the instant they were no longer alone. “Who is your friend?” She was preparing the answer for her Hand when she noticed Tyrion studying Arya closely. She didn’t understand his expression, it wasn’t the idle curiosity she expected. He looked confused. Typically, she only saw Tyrion make that face when he was vexed by a confounding problem. 

Jorah was less diplomatic. “Sneaking out again? This is madness!” 

Jorah’s harsh commentary turned the Queen away from Tyrion’s inquiry to Arya again. The relaxed woman she’d spent the night with, the one who’d made love to her, and then held her on the forest floor, was gone. In her place was a tense, blank-faced woman staring straight ahead, ignoring all the people around her. Arya’s mood change caused Daenerys’s to follow. “That’s enough!” she commanded. 

“I should be going,” Arya said stiffly after an awkward delay. Daenerys hated it, talking with Arya had never been so difficult. 

“Don’t,” she said, grabbing her arm in her haste to keep her from leaving. Tyrion’s eyes narrowed at the scene, while Jorah scoffed dismissively. 

Arya’s hard exterior softened under Daenerys’s plea. “You have business, I think.”

“I’m afraid it’s true your Grace,” Tyrion confirmed. “A raven arrived last night from Winterfell. Sansa is in need of aid.” 

Defeated she took a deliberate breath to try and quell her annoyance. “Prepare things in the throne room, I’ll join you in a moment.” Missandei left immediately, Tyrion remained only long enough to give Arya one final appraisal and then Jorah went last, grumbling under his breath.   
Daenerys was crushed by waves of disappointment. The realities hit her one after another. That they couldn’t stay together, that she didn’t know when she’d see Arya again, that their perfect morning had been ruined, and most importantly that Arya no longer seemed comfortable in her presence. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” It didn’t feel fine, in fact it felt like the opposite of fine. 

“It’s not fine,” she whined like a petulant child. “I wanted to have breakfast with you.” 

There was another incremental softening of Arya’s tight features. “Another time.”

“You could stay…”

“I have business today,” she said. It was the first time Arya ever spoke about her work, and Daenerys wanted to inquire further but she didn’t get the chance. “You do too. The Northern Queen needs you more than me, if the Lannister is right.”

She sighed dramatically. “He usually is, unfortunately.”

Arya used her chin to point in the general direction of her throne. “Go Dany, your people need you.”

Even if her words were true, she wasn’t ready to go just yet. “Tell me I’ll see you again,” she urged, needing confirmation. 

Arya reached out and stroked Daenerys’s cheek with her rough hand. “You will.”

Those two words were enough to give her the strength to step away from where she desperately wanted to stay. Before she rounded the corner, she looked back to get a glimpse of her lover, but Arya was already lost. 

R-C

Tyrion’s urgency was warranted. She might have wanted to drag Arya to the nearest bed in her vast castle and forget the world, but Sansa Stark was an ally and a friend, and not the sort to ask for help without a valid reason. 

Sitting on her uncomfortable throne she asked, “What do we know?”

Tyrion cleared his throat quickly before he started. “As I said, I received a raven from Sansa…”

Her time with Arya had been interrupted for this, it had better be meaningful. “And?”

“It seems your Grace,” Varys continued for the Hand, “that there is a rather aggressive adversary at work in your Northern kingdom.” 

She didn’t know if Sansa said that, or Varys’s spies. She asked Tyrion for clarification. “Does Sansa confirm this?”

“She does. According to her letter, many of her men have gone missing on patrol or while carrying out their duties in recent weeks.”

“Do we know the cause?” the Queen wondered aloud, her eyes moving between the Spider and the dwarf. 

A quick look around the room told her that many of those listening had heard some or all of this before. Likely while she was busy with Arya. “Only guesses,” Varys replied. 

“What of your spies?”

The round man bristled at the use of the word ‘spies’ but didn’t delay his response. “It seems some are unhappy with Sansa’s ascent to the Northern throne.” 

She grew up believing the Starks were nothing more than dogs who blindly served the Usurpers who killed her father but now she knew different. In a world full of contradictions and competing truths, it was almost universally agreed that Ned Stark and his kin were loyal and honorable. Seeing as most of those she dealt with couldn’t agree on the time of day, it meant quite a lot to have consensus. She also couldn’t ignore the fact that under Ned Stark the temperamental Northmen were peaceful and unified. The infighting only began after his execution. During the wars she’d had occasion to meet the surviving Stark children. Despite her bloodline and the sordid history between their families, they were generous and kind to her and her people. Not once in their months together, did she catch a Stark in a lie. They also didn’t try to manipulate Daenerys or her advisors for personal gain. In short, they were easy to like. 

She knew she never would have been able to rally the North to fight for her without Ned Stark’s bastard Jon Snow. Without their alliance the Night King would have killed them all and pillaged the entire Realm. His death could have undone all the progress they’d made but Sana worked hard with Daenerys despite her grief to ensure that didn’t happen. 

“What else?” Daenerys pressed, not liking all the unknowns. 

“Little else is clear, I’m afraid,” Varys admitted, seemingly as unhappy with their lack of knowledge as she was. “We just know dozens of Stark troops have vanished.” 

“Did you send the letter to Sansa I requested?” She recalled ordering Tyrion to send Sansa a raven when the representatives from Dorne were visiting. There had been rumors of unrest in the North, apparently they were true. 

“I did,” Tyrion confirmed carefully, “although, whether this is a reply to that message or not, I don’t know.” 

Daenerys wanted to ask why Sansa hadn’t sent word sooner, but she knew. The Northmen were proud and had a healthy distrust for Southern royalty. She understood why and didn’t begrudge them that. 

“Do we know who is leading this rebellion? Can they mount a force strong enough to take Winterfell? Do they have allies?” She fired the questions off quickly, without giving time for anyone to respond. 

There was hesitation before Varys responded. She nodded to encourage him to speak. “We don’t know who is leading them, but given the number of missing Starks, the group must be substantial.” 

“Sansa wouldn’t have sent word if it wasn’t more than she could handle alone,” Tyrion said, echoing what Daenerys was thinking. 

“What does my Queen in the North request?” 

“Troops,” Tyrion informed her. “The war with the Dead depleted the Northern armies drastically and that was before Sansa pledged her survivors to help you defeat my sister.” 

Daenerys didn’t need a reminder of just how much she owed Sansa and her family, Tyrion pointing it out anyway only reinforced the debt. “Ready the army, I want to be on the road to Winterfell by midday.” 

“Khaleesi, you can’t,” Jorah resisted. “It’ll take days to prepare things to travel that distance and that says nothing of your affairs here.” 

That was irrelevant. She wasn’t going to abandon Sansa in her time of need. She did however have to acknowledge Jorah made a valid point. “Fine, send Grey Worm and the Unsullied as soon as they’re ready. The rest of us will follow when we can.” 

Her advisors all looked at one another, likely deciding which would make a counterargument. Tyrion lost the silent war. “Sansa only requested a hundred Unsullied to help her secure her lands and support her bannermen. She didn’t suggest you to lead them.”

“And yet that’s precisely what I’m going to do!” Daenerys declared clearly. She addressed the spymaster next. “Varys you’ll remain here and ensure the people are well cared for. We’ll return when the criminals have been captured or killed.” 

His face showed how badly he wanted to object, but in the end he relented. “Of course, your Grace.” 

“Are you sure this is wise?” Jorah inquired before she dismissed them. 

“I owe Sansa Stark a debt I fully intend to repay. Anyone who doesn’t wish to join me is welcome to stay with Varys and watch over the capitol, but I am going and that’s final.” 

R-C

The Red Keep was buzzing with busy servants gathering the necessary supplies and packing the required bags. They were moving as quickly as they could, but Daenerys still wished they were faster. Every second they delayed increased the chances Sansa and Winterfell would fall. She’d instructed Tyrion to send Sansa word that help was coming. All she could do now was hope they reached her in time. 

Lost in her thoughts of Sansa’s dilemma she didn’t hear Tyrion’s approach. “Your Grace, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you since this morning…”

His tone was all the warning she needed to know she wasn’t going to like what came next. “What is that?”

“Your friend, the one I saw you with in the hall, who was she?” 

Obligations to the Realm kept her busy enough to force Arya to the back of her mind. She was back at the front again. “That’s what you wish to discuss?!” she snapped. “We have a rebellion in the North and your former wife is in danger and you wish to ask me this now?”

At the very least he had the decency to look ashamed of his timing. “Yes, I mean no, it’s just that she looked familiar to me somehow and I can’t say why.” 

This was news to Daenerys. In their conversations Arya always referred to Tyrion as ‘the Lannister, the Imp or dwarf.’ The fact that Arya knew who he was, wasn’t surprising, Tyrion came from a prestigious, well-known family and it was quite the scandal when she brought him back to Westeros to serve as her Hand. Her first instinct was to tell him he was mistaken, after all she struggled to picture Arya and Tyrion together in any context, but there was the fact that Arya knew her way around the Red Keep and spoke of a time in King’s Landing, however vague she was on the subject. “I can’t imagine why.”

His lips parted to say something else until Varys appeared to discuss one matter or another with him. Daenerys took the opportunity to slip away. 

R-C

She was standing at a high window, watching carts and wagons leaving the gate and continuing down the road. There had been a steady stream of them since she gave the order days ago. “We will be ready to go within the hour, your Grace,” Missandei said.

She smiled at her friend. “I’m glad. I would have taken Drogon, but he and Rhaegal haven’t been back since I learned of Sansa’s plight.” 

“Sansa is strong,” Missandei assured her. “She’ll hold on until we arrive.” 

Daenerys hoped that was true, not only because Sansa was a valuable ally, but because she knew of all Sansa had endured and saw in her a kindred spirit of sorts. Like Daenerys, she had suffered horrible pain and vile indiscretions, only to survive. Like Daenerys she persevered and became a Queen when many others would have given up long before. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Missandei asking, “Have you told Arya you plan to leave?”

Arya! She hadn’t. She meant to draft a letter the night before and send a courier to the forest where Arya made her home, but she was distracted by a series of visitors who needed her opinion or approval on various matters. When she fell into bed later, she was too exhausted to think of anything she was forgetting. She was up before the sun, and the parade of people in need of her attention picked up right where it left off. 

She trusted Arya would understand her need to go North and help, she didn’t worry about that. What did upset her though was the realization she’d go weeks or months without seeing her lover. How could she have forgotten to inform Arya she was leaving? She felt terrible about overlooking her. It wasn’t too late. A small sliver of time remained. Writing a note and sending it would have been easy enough to accomplish before they departed, but Daenerys decided Arya deserved more. In addition, she also wanted to see her, especially if it would be the last time for a while. 

For once Daenerys didn’t have to worry about sneaking from the castle. Everyone, including Jorah had their own tasks to finish before they travelled. “Care to join me?” she asked Missandei as she turned her back on the window and took a step for the door. 

“Where are we going?”

“To see Arya, I need to say goodbye.” 

“We’re to leave in an hour!” Missandei reminded her as she hurried to keep pace. 

“Then we best be quick.”

R-C

She was in the wrong place, she had to be. This couldn’t be Arya’s camp, nothing was how she remembered it. She considered going back to the gate and trying again. They’d ridden hard and fast to get here. Daenerys kept her eyes on the crowds along the way and not the roads, she was checking the faces to make sure Arya wasn’t one of them. In their rush, perhaps they’d taken a wrong turn or two. That was a much better alternative than what her mind was telling her had happened. 

“Is this it?” Missandei asked her innocently. 

Daenerys wasn’t sure how to respond. Was it? She’d made the trip from the Red Keep plenty, usually in the dark, and she’d always found it without trouble. Now she was standing in a clearing that felt like the right one but didn’t look like it. 

The fire was the first thing she noticed. The carefully arranged border of rocks was gone, there was no kindling gathered up for dinner time, just a small patch of scorched ground where the fire had once been. 

The logs, the nature-made benches she and Arya spent hours cuddled together on, they weren’t in the right positions. She could see both of them, but they’d been pushed away, out of the clearing, against the trees. One on the left, the other on the right. 

Instinctively Daenerys walked to the area where she’d woken up days earlier. There was no fur, no pillow, no blankets, nothing at all. She knew Arya packed up her camp every morning, so it wasn’t surprising her things were missing. What worried her was that the grass wasn’t as flattened as she thought it should be, as it would be if Arya had packed up her bed only hours ago. 

“I…I don’t… none of this is right,” she stammered, searching for an acceptable explanation. Her mind was busy telling her things she didn’t want to accept. About how the logs, the rocks and the wood hadn’t been moved on the day Daenerys surprised Arya with dinner. They’d been right where they always were because Arya knew she’d return to use them. What she saw now only led to one conclusion. Arya wasn’t coming back. She felt sick. “She’s gone!” Daenerys realized. 

“Perhaps she’s just busy. She said she had business last time you saw her, maybe it’s still keeping her.” 

Daenerys knew what her friend was trying to do, but it wouldn’t work. One by one she told Missandei all her reasons, showed her all the evidence. 

Saddened but loyal to the end, Missandei wasn’t prepared to give up. “This can’t be the only clearing in the Kingswood, did we make an error? All the trees look the same.”

“I think we’re in the right place.” 

Missandei took her hand and squeezed. Daenerys had done this in the fighting pits when she was certain death was upon them. It had given them both comfort to know they weren’t alone and now Missandei was doing the same, reminding Daenerys she was there. It was a gesture she appreciated. 

Arya was gone? She hadn’t said anything to Daenerys about leaving. Where would she go and why? It pained her to admit she didn’t know where else to look. She thought something similar once when Arya wasn’t at the tavern during Daenerys’s return visit, but this time the disappointment she felt was accompanied by a sharp, deep pain. 

R-C

Arya knew the moment her horse crossed into the North. It unsettled her to find it felt nothing like home any longer. It wasn’t her first trip North since returning to Westeros, she’d been several times, for different reasons and various durations but one thing remained constant, she never wore her true face. 

The first time, she was following up on Hot Pie’s questionable claim that Winterfell had returned to Stark hands. She liked Hot Pie truly, but her friend was nothing if not inconsistent. He still referred to Winterfell as Winterhell more often than not. It was just as likely that Bolton banners hung from the walls, but she had to see for herself. 

Getting inside was relatively easy. Few would recognize her after so long, but she wore a stranger’s face anyway. She walked the familiar ground and relived memories almost constantly. When she saw Sansa and Littlefinger standing together on the balcony she pictured the countless times she’d seen her mother and father looking down from that exact place, watching the children below. 

On the stairs down into the crypt she returned her face to the one she was born with. If she was going to apologize to her father for what she’d done and who she’d become, she needed to do so as Arya Stark and not No One. 

Every time she considered revealing herself to Sansa something would hold her back. She loved her sister. She may not have thought so when they were children, but years apart had taught her different. From the shadows she listened and watched, learning of the horrors Sansa had to endure while Arya was in Essos. Not even the knowledge that Ramsay was dead was enough to satisfy her desire to kill him again and again. 

It had been that thirst for blood that finalized her decision. She couldn’t tell Sansa who she was because her sister would expect her to be Arya. The same one she shared a room with, the girl she yelled at, the one her friends teased mercilessly and who was good. Sansa didn’t know that that Arya died with their father. When he lost his head, she lost her heart and that couldn’t be remedied. She was skilled at pretending, at lying, at being someone she wasn’t so she was confident she could have faked it. She could have acted like the Arya Sansa wanted her to be, but it wouldn’t have been real. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them. It was better this way. Sansa believed her dead, she’d mourned her long ago, with Robb, and their parents. Revealing the truth would only open old wounds. That wouldn’t help her sister. 

She would have moved on had she not heard the murmurs around Winterfell that Jon, the North’s newly crowned King was returning from his meeting with the Dragon Queen. 

The forge was lit day and night as weapons were crafted for the war with the Dead. She may not have been the Arya Sansa wanted but the Arya she’d become was one capable of waging war. She could kill, White Walkers, Wights, Lannisters or anything else that threatened her family. 

So, she had. She’d stayed in the North and prepared alongside Jon and Sansa without revealing her identity to either of them. She left frequently but never stayed away long. When she was there, she spent the majority of her time outside the gates, with the Wildlings, where she could easily be overlooked. She didn’t take part in the strategy sessions with Jon and his military commanders. Nor was she present when Sansa quelled the growing frustrations of the Northern Lords. She had no place there. She was little more than a weapon in the form of a woman and that suited her just fine. 

She was there on the day the armies of the living defeated the dead. She knelt in the snow next to Jon as he took his final breath. He sacrificed himself to distract the Night King and allowed Brienne and a handful of Targaryen troops to attack from the rear. She howled like the Wolf she was as everyone around her cheered in victory. Yes, they’d won, but at what cost. Arya would have one more brother to visit in the crypts of Winterfell. 

Keeping her secret while Sansa mourned Jon was even more difficult than not revealing the truth to Jon before he died. Sansa wept as they set his bones in the crypt next to Robb’s and Arya joined in. The face didn’t need to be hers for the tears to be real. She was in the procession of people who paid their respects to Sansa afterward. She wore a woman’s features and a dress for the occasion. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said when it was her turn. “I’ll mourn him until the day I see him again.”

Ever the Lady, Sansa thanked her politely, as she had with everyone else. Just before she moved on Sansa’s teary eyes widened and her gaze froze her sister in place. For an instant she feared Sansa could somehow see through the magic of the Faceless Men to what was beneath. 

“Take care of yourself, Lady Stark,” Arya said sincerely. 

“And you,” she replied before releasing Arya to move on. She seized the moment. She was gone from the North within hours. 

Now she was back. If anyone suggested the day would come where she’d prefer the South over the North, she would have thought them ill, but facts were facts. Being a Stark in the North meant obligations. Generations of honorable, decent, men and women were born and died with her name. Right or wrong people expected her to be her father’s daughter. As a girl, she wanted nothing more than to be recognized in the same breath as Eddard Stark. To hear someone say they recognized pieces of him in her, be it words or deeds would have been an affirmation of all she was, but that was before. Now she avoided anything that might provoke such comparisons, not wanting to feel the accompanying shame that came after failing to measure up to his legacy. 

Whoever she was, she was determined to protect what remained of her family. She’d done so during the wars and she would again. If she hadn’t spent years in Braavos mastering her emotions she would have fled from the Red Keep the second she heard of Sansa’s request. As it was, she managed to excuse herself, leaving Dany none the wiser. Outside the gate however she was sprinting. 

She had faith that upon learning of the situation Dany would send her Unsullied or perhaps the Dothraki to reinforce Winterfell, but Arya wasn’t willing to wait. Whoever Dany sent, they could join her when they arrived. Whether it was Unsullied spears or Dothraki arakhs they could join her in rooting out this enemy. Her only regret was that she didn’t tell Dany she was leaving. She couldn’t, it would have taken valuable time to craft a believable lie to explain away her absence and she was in a hurry. She trusted she could earn the Targaryen’s forgiveness upon her return. 

Along the way she encountered several places where she suspected an ambush had taken place. There were no bodies or left over weapons, just prints in the snow and stains of red on white. They had to be recent and that could only mean that Sansa’s problems continued. 

She didn’t know who they were, or their reasons, nor did she care. She promised the Old Gods and the New they’d die before she returned South. She had the blood of a Wolf in her. She knew the North better than she knew any place in this world. They couldn’t hide from her. She’d deliver them to the Many Faced God one by one until none remained. It was rare that the Wolf she was born to be and the assassin she was could agree on anything, but in this case, they did. 

 

R-C

She stared into the flames without really seeing much of anything. She was cold and she wasn’t even in the North yet. She sat with a blanket covering her legs, a thick cloak around her shoulders and fur-lined boots protecting her feet. She had gloves too, although the right one was not on her hand. She held it between her thighs as her bare fingers twirled her pendant. This was rapidly becoming a habit of hers, when she was missing or thinking of Arya, which meant it was almost constant. 

A tent had been raised for her, blankets and pillows laid out, but she hadn’t even bothered to go in and lie down. It would have been a pointless exercise. How could she sleep when the one she wanted next to her was gone? During the day travelling kept her occupied. There were miles to pass, decisions to make, it was all very taxing. At night though, when most were asleep, her mind was free to wander and worry. This night it was more worrying than anything else. It bothered her that she had no idea where Arya was. Why hadn’t she said anything to Daenerys about her plans to travel? She wouldn’t have stopped her from going but she would have gotten a guarantee that she would return. Complicating matters further was the knowledge that Arya was capable of sneaking in and out of the Red Keep. Anyone else who came calling while she was North would need to speak to a guard or Varys but not Arya. When she returned it was likely she’d have no idea if Arya had sought her out or not. 

“Thinking of Arya?” Missandei asked in Valyrian just before she appeared on Daenerys’s right and sat down. 

“Yes,” she answered. “I didn’t like leaving without seeing her first, and I hate knowing she left without telling me.” She circled the diamond in her pendant with her thumb before turning her head in Missandei’s direction. “Why aren’t you sleeping.”

“I was worried about you.” 

She smiled at her friend and Missandei reflected it back at her with a smile of her own. “I’m fine Missandei, I promise. You should rest, we’ll be moving early.” 

“So fine you aren’t in your tent?” she inquired gently. 

“Just thinking,” she responded, hating how pitiful it sounded. She wasn’t the kind of woman who whined or complained, she was a Dragon. 

Missandei’s face was the picture of understanding. “I know,” she said, taking Daenerys’s gloved hand with one of her own, “but in case you want to talk instead of think, I’m here.” 

How many times since their meeting had she thought about how blessed she was to have Missandei in her life? Too many to recall certainly, and yet they kept happening. She did want to talk and when the subject was Arya, there was no one else she could confide in. “I didn’t think I could feel like this.”

She was certain Missandei knew what she meant, but she asked anyway. “Like what?”

Knowing how stupid it was going to sound didn’t stop her from saying it. “I don’t know, I keep looking for her, expecting to see her around every corner. Even when I’m busy, a part of my mind is always thinking of her. I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

With an indulgent smile Missandei urged her to continue. “How do you mean?”

“She challenges me,” Daenerys explained, aware of how drastically she was minimizing Arya’s independence. “She’ll oppose my point of view one minute, then praise it the next. No one else would dare talk to me the way she does, but when it’s Arya I don’t mind. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like…”

“You love her,” Missandei finished for her. 

She wanted to reject the sentiment. She cared for Arya but that didn’t make it love. Love would only complicate things more than they already were. Her title, Arya’s past, Daenerys’s choice to make her home in a place Arya despised, the limited time they had together because of Daenerys’s duties, it all had them dancing on the edge of a knife. Calling what they had ‘love’ might tip them both over. Deep down though she knew there was some truth in what Missandei was saying. She wouldn’t be sitting in the cold thinking of Arya otherwise. “I don’t know,” she lied. She wasn’t ready to confess just yet. “It was only meant to be one night,” she said, as if stating her original intentions somehow changed where they were and how she felt now. 

“At first,” Missandei clarified, “but you said she hates the Red Keep right?”

Of this there was no doubt. “Yes.”

Missandei smiled as if this was good somehow. “Precisely. She goes to a place she hates for you. The sex can’t be that good. It’s more than that now, for the both of you.” 

She laughed at her friend’s joke but bit her lip to keep from correcting her. Missandei didn’t need to know that the sex was good enough to travel to the end of the known world and beyond. She may not be able to speak for Arya, but she could address her own feelings. She’d known for weeks that her relationship with Arya was more than just a fun sexual release. 

Her mind went back to the night of the feast. Arya had told her in no uncertain terms that she’d go to the celebration and hate every minute of it, if Dany wished her to. “She cares about me,” Daenerys whispered in a moment of perfect clarity. 

Missandei nodded. “As you do her.”

She didn’t know if sleep would come, but she should probably try. “Thank you Missandei,” she said as she hugged the advisor to her side. “Go use Grey Worm to keep you warm, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll see you then, your Grace,” she said as she stood. The sudden return to formality made her smile. Hadn’t they just been joking about her sex life? 

She chuckled when she saw the mischief in Missandei’s chocolate eyes. Only then did she realize she’d done it on purpose to get exactly the reaction from the Queen she had. “Good night.” 

R-C

Winterfell didn’t look all that different from the last time she’d been. During her walk across the courtyard she learned that three of the last five patrols Sansa sent out had gone missing. The men were speculating wildly about who or what might be delaying them. Many thought it was an enemy, attempting to unseat the Queen but an equal number suspected it was an animal or creature of some sort. The Wall had been damaged when the Night King passed leading to all manner of fantastic imaginings about what could have slipped through in the time since. She couldn’t deny it was a plausible possibility, one she might consider if she hadn’t seen the blood on the way in. No bodies, no bones, just blood. No beast she knew could eat a body whole and leave nothing behind, and that said nothing of the weapons. Steel was hardly good for one’s diet. No, this was a plot to overthrow Sansa, she was certain of it. 

The door to the Great Hall was closed and locked but that hardly deterred Arya. She opened it carefully and had a look inside. The room was empty except for her sister. Sansa was sitting at the table she ruled from, her head down, her face covered by her hands. Brienne came in from the door at Sansa’s back. “Are you alright?” she asked with sincere concern. 

“I can’t do this!” she said, speaking into her hands. “I can’t! Jon would know what to do, Robb would know. I don’t.”

“This isn’t your fault.” 

“My people are dying, and I can’t stop it. I don’t have enough men to fight, and I can’t negotiate with people I can’t find!” Sansa’s voice rose higher with every word, a trait Arya knew well. It happened only when she was deeply upset. 

When she took her hands away from her face Arya could see her cheeks were red. She was too far away to see the tears, but she didn’t doubt they were there. She waved dismissively to the chairs at her side, each one empty. “This table is supposed to be lined with Starks,” she told Brienne. “A Stark must always remain in Winterfell,” she said, doing her best imitation of their father. It would have been humorous for Arya to hear if it didn’t come at a time when Sansa was so obviously in distress. She sobbed openly now. “It was never supposed to be me.” 

With those final words, Arya understood what was at the core of her sister’s discomfort. When they were young, Sansa made no secret of her wish to leave Winterfell and marry a Prince. She wanted to be a Queen and rule at her husband’s side. When Joffrey came North and showed her the slightest bit of interest she was thrilled. Being Lady Stark wasn’t the challenge for Sansa that it was for Arya. It was a role she was suited to, one she’d been groomed for her entire life. 

Every religion had a similar story, one of an ambitious man or woman looking to their Gods for help and getting more than they bargained for. In the temple, surrounded by statues of all the Gods, common and rare, forgotten and favored, Arya heard every one. Her favorite was from the Ironborn. 

As the legend goes an Iron Islander named Hunnic was a gifted sailor and one of the youngest to ever captain his own ship. On his first raid he and his men secured more plunder and coin than most other ships do in a month. Over time Hunnic’s ego began to grow along with his successes. He became the most famous raider in any of the Iron Islands. He had his pick of the women and chose the prettiest to be his wife. Like all those of his kind Hunnic loved the sea and spent more time on it than he did dry land. One day he decided it was beneath a raider of his skill to have to use a boat. so he prayed to the Drowned God. He asked to become a fearsome shark, so he could continue to raid for his people, while never needing to return to land. That very night the Drowned God appeared in his dream and asked Hunnic, “What of your wife? Do you intend to leave her behind? Once you are a shark you can never go back.”

He thought about it for several days because he truly did love his wife. In the end, he loved the sea more. He prayed again and asked that his wife be allowed to join him underwater. 

His request was granted and through the power of the Gods, Hunnic became a massive, blood-thirsty shark, capable of tearing into hulls, and devouring any of the crew that tried to escape. His wife on the other hand joined him underwater just as he asked but did so in her human form. Unlike her husband she lacked the ability to breathe underwater. A rock was attached to her waist to keep her from floating. Without fingers to untie the intricate knots Hunnic was powerless to help. He had only his sharp teeth to try and free his wife. He chewed through the rope only after she was had drowned. 

Hunnic’s lesson was one Arya suspected Sansa was learning now. “Be careful what you wish for, you might get it.” Countless hours spent wanting to be Queen and Arya was confident Sansa never imagined her ascension would happen quite like this. 

Arya had always liked Brienne, right from the start. She was glad Sansa had her, not only to keep her safe, but to provide counsel. The woman from Tarth put her hand on Sansa’s shoulder in an act of kindness. Arya knew she alone, could bring relief to her sister, she just wasn’t sure she should. 

Sansa’s pain stemmed from the fact that she believed she alone was left. She’d seen during her time with Dany just how heavy a burden leadership could be. Dany had advisors, friends, Missandei, the Lannister, even the jealous Mormont. They were all there to help Dany cope, and still she struggled. Outside of Brienne Arya didn’t know who supported Sansa. 

The problem however remained the same. She hid her identity because she couldn’t be the sister Sansa wanted or needed. She was a murderer. She had so much blood on her hands it was all she could see much of the time. Telling her the truth would be a temporary solution for a permanent problem. She couldn’t remain at Sansa’s side and rule the North with her. That wasn’t who she was, and she didn’t know if Sansa would be able to accept that. She hadn’t killed anyone since the man at the tavern, the week after she first met Dany but that meant nothing. She was too far gone to find her way back. Whether it was to protect Sansa or to earn gold, one day soon she’d be coloring her sword red with someone’s blood. She had long ago made her peace with that. Could Sansa do the same? Was it kind or cruel to return to her life now, only to leave again later? 

The choice was made for her, when she heard Sansa say as she cried, “I don’t think I can do this alone. Robb had allies, Jon had Davos, even Bran had Maester Luwin while Robb was at war. I’ve got no one.” 

She couldn’t allow Sansa to think she was all alone in the world. Even if Arya couldn’t stay forever, she could give Sansa the benefit of knowing she was out there somewhere, alive. There would be consequences from her choice she was sure, but she’d deal with them when the time came. For now, her sister needed her and that had to be her priority. The burn as her face returned to normal had her heart pumping faster in her chest. It was now or never. 

Across the large room Brienne’s lips parted, likely to assure Sansa she wasn’t alone. Perhaps she was going to say that she would be Sansa’s councillor and confidant.

She pushed the door open and stepped loudly, ensuring she drew the attention of both women. They separated, and Brienne’s shrewd eyes narrowed as she took a long stride in Arya’s direction. Seated at the table, Sansa lowered her face and got busy trying to clean the tears away. It was all unnecessary. 

“That door was locked,” Brienne said with her hand on her sword. 

“When the snows fall, and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives,” she said quoting their father on her walk to the table. “You’re not alone Sansa.”

Their moment was endless. Sansa’s eyes bounced up, a hand flashed to cover her mouth and contain her gasp. When it fell away Arya saw relief written all over Sansa’s face. She’d done the right thing. “Arya!” she said. 

Arya was moving, passing Brienne on her way to Sansa. The Queen in all her Lady-like splendor knocked the chair over in her haste to stand. She rounded the table and met Arya for a hug. “I… I thought you… thought you were…” she stopped short of admitting what she thought had become of Arya. “Tell me it’s really you,” Sansa pleaded as her younger sister held her. 

“I’m here Sansa, I’m here,” she said as she rubbed circles on the Northern Queen’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There you go, it won’t be long now until Daenerys learns the truth, one chapter or maybe two, depending how they break apart. I didn’t think Tyrion would be able to recognize Arya at first glance, but his mind is starting to put the pieces together. I also thought that since I wrote Jon dead and Bran never returning to Winterfell, it was only right to give Sansa a little loneliness and guilt to struggle with. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> R-C


	10. Chapter 10

Night fell as she sat next to Sansa, sipping wine Podrick brought them at his Queen’s request. Sana looked good, better than the last time she’d seen her, in the days after Jon’s death. She appeared to need a restful sleep but given the circumstances that could be forgiven. She didn’t know it yet, but Sansa needn’t worry any longer. Arya would rid the world of all who opposed her. 

Sansa peppered her with questions while Brienne guarded the door to ensure they weren’t disturbed. It was understandable that Sansa had a lot to ask about. Where she’d been, how she escaped and how she’d survived, were just some of her inquires. Each time she broached an uncomfortable topic the assassin had a lie on the tip of her tongue. The Faceless Men had taught her more than murder. She mastered lying too. Strangely she found she didn’t want to lie to Sansa, even if it was for her own good. The truth was ugly. Was it best for Sansa to hear a compelling story in which Arya hadn’t struggled or suffered?

She relied on vague half-truths and expertly timed questions of her own to steer Sansa away from the worst of it. Where she’d been? Everywhere. She freely told Sansa about the places she’d seen, places her sister had only read about in books. She avoided mention of what she’d been doing. Explaining she travelled the world killing strangers for her newfound God was a detail for later, if ever. 

How had she survived? With help. She thought of long ago and the people who’d kept a wild Wolf alive when she had no one else. Syrio who faced Lannister guards with only a wooden sword to facilitate her escape. Yoren who smuggled her from the city. Hot Pie and Gendry who were her friends when she was alone had no others and of course Jaqen who taught her that service and death could be one in the same. 

How had she survived? That was more complicated. “After I met Brienne, I left Westeros,” she summarized, looking toward the door to see the woman from Tarth listening intently. “I travelled to Braavos.” 

“Why?” Sansa asked. “Why didn’t you go with Brienne?” 

“I needed to learn,” she said, minimizing just how much Jaqen had had to teach the unruly girl she’d been. 

“Learn what?”

“The sword for one.” For the first time since they sat down, she told the truth without leaving anything out. “I wanted to learn to kill all the people who wronged us, wronged our family.”

“Did you?” the Queen asked tentatively. 

She nodded. “When I came back, I started at the Twins.” She leaned closer as she recalled Walder Frey’s gruesome death. Even years removed from that night it brought a smile to her face. “Before the end he knew who I was and why he was going to die, for mother, for Robb and everyone else.”

Sansa had been taking a sip of her wine while Arya confessed. She sputtered and struggled to keep from spitting, swallowing awkwardly. She wiped a droplet of sweet liquid from the edge of her lower lip with her hand. “T…that was you?” 

It took a moment for Sansa to make sense of what she was learning about her sister but when the pieces came together, she was angry. “That was years ago! You’ve been back for that long?!” Her accusations had Sansa red faced and glaring at the younger woman. Arya was glad Sansa didn’t give her a chance to respond. She couldn’t very well tell Sansa she’d spent time with her wearing other faces. That would only make things worse. “Why are you back now?”

Seeing Sansa so mad at her, reminded Arya of a simpler time when they shared a home, and a room. Some things never changed. She waited for her to settle before she said, “I heard you’re having trouble. I came to help.”

“Help?” Sansa shouted. “You’re kidding right? Do you have any idea what’s happened? Jon’s dead! Rickon’s dead. Bran’s dead! I’ve been alone all this time and you decide to come and help now?” 

She reached out and took her sister’s hand. She didn’t want to fight. “I know. I mourn them too, everyday.”

Her anger was dying out to be replaced with hurt. “But you didn’t come back.”

“I was no use to you here,” she admitted honestly. “You’re the Lady Stark, not me. You’re the Queen. That was never who I was.” 

“What are you saying?” 

She smiled knowingly at the Northern royal. “I couldn’t help you lead Sansa. I can’t help you make policy or sway nobles. I can do a lot, but not that.” 

“But you can help me now? You can help me hold Winterfell against whoever is doing this to us?” 

“I can and I will.” 

“Well I don’t need your help,” Sansa said bitterly. She crossed her arms over her chest and pinned Arya with a disapproving look that reminded her of their mother. “The Queen is sending troops. They’ll arrive any day.” 

Arya was relieved. She knew she could count on Dany. “The Unsullied are good, better than good even, but there are things I can do that they can’t. Dany’s men…”

When she was interrupted, she expected Sansa to resist the notion that she capable of anything trained soldiers weren’t. She hadn’t caught her misstep. It was a novice mistake. “Dany?”

She removed the emotions. “Dany, Daenerys, the Targaryen, the Dragon Queen, the one you bent the knee to.”

“I’ve never heard anyone call her Dany,” Sansa provided helpfully. Arya couldn’t let her learn the truth, they had other matters to contend with first. 

“Whatever we call her, her men don’t know the North. They’ll need someone to lead them.” 

It would go against Sansa’s instincts to put Arya in danger, but this wasn’t up for debate. She hadn’t come to Winterfell and put on her own face to stay behind the walls while others risked their lives. One look at Sansa and she knew she didn’t plan to back down either. 

The test of wills between siblings was delayed by Podrick’s arrival. This time he wasn’t bringing wine, only news. “Lady Starks, word has come from one of the scouts. A large group of the Targaryen’s freed men are marching North. They should arrive tomorrow if the weather holds.” 

“Thank you Podrick,” Sansa said kindly. 

The squire ducked his head and retreated. Of all those she’d seen so far, it was Podrick Payne who changed most since her last day in Winterfell. Then, Brienne had been training him tirelessly to craft him into a capable swordsman. From his walk and posture alone Arya could tell she succeeded. 

Sansa turned back to her sister as soon as Pod was gone. “See, soldiers will be in Winterfell tomorrow.” Surely, she knew Arya well enough to know that wouldn’t be enough to change her mind. 

In the interest of keeping the peace, Arya bargained. “I’ll wait until the Unsullied get here before I go out hunting.,” she said, “but I am going.” She let Sansa come to terms with that fact before she asked, “Can you tell me what you know?”

R-C

The situation was far worse than Arya thought it would be. She’d been wondering the whole way North what could be so bad it would compel Sansa to seek Southern aid. Now she knew. 

After she’d heard from Sansa, she tracked down Podrick, Brienne and a handful of the men who’d managed to return alive. Little was known beyond the obvious. People were disappearing. She heard plenty of theories from bandits to slavers to Wildlings, but something just didn’t feel right. When she confirmed that only Stark soldiers were missing Arya knew this was more serious than bandits.

She returned to Sansa with her conclusion. “Keep the gate sealed and bring as many people inside as you can.” 

The Queen was immediately on edge. “Why? What did you find?”

“I know some think it’s animals or creatures from beyond the Wall but it’s not,” she said. “I saw signs of fighting on the way in and there were no bodies, no discarded shields or dropped weapons, just blood on the ground.” 

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not slavers, bandits or thieves either,” she continued. “Brienne tells me no other Northern House is having similar problems.” 

“They aren’t,” Sansa confirmed. “I wrote to each of them when the second group went missing.” She was done and then for whatever reason chose to justify her wise action to Arya further. “I needed to warn them.” 

She nodded to show Sansa she understood. “It was good thinking, but none of them reported anything.” 

“I found it strange,” she lamented, “but I considered it good fortune more castles weren’t plagued by the same torments.” 

“Slavers would take anyone and everyone they could get their hands on,” Arya supplied, getting them back on track. “They wouldn’t limit themselves to a single town or area.” 

“Bandits then?” 

“Bandits, even well-organized ones would leave the bodies where they fell. They wouldn’t take them. Same is true of thieves.”

“Perhaps that means the men are still alive,” Sansa guessed, her worried tone laced with hope. 

“You’ve received no ransom demands. If it’s kidnapping why wait? It’s been weeks.” 

“What are you saying?” Sansa snapped, reaching her limit. 

She wished she could give the worried Queen some good news, but she had surprisingly little. “Someone is targeting Stark troops and Winterfell, this is about us.” 

It took several long seconds for Sansa to reply. When she did, she threw up her hands. “It never ends. Cersei’s dead, Ramsay’s dead, Frey’s dead and people are still after us. We’re cursed.” She mumbled the last few words into her hands as she covered her face. 

“I’m going to fix this,” Arya promised. 

She tensed. “Arya if you’re right, they’re after Starks. You can’t go out there.” 

“Arya Stark died a long time ago,” she said with no feeling. “No one else knows I’m alive.” 

“You need to be careful, whatever this is, people are dying.”

“I know,” she confirmed. “That’s why I need to help. It’s what father would do, or Robb or Jon. I need to protect you, protect our home, protect our people.” 

R-C

It wasn’t a coincidence that Arya challenged Podrick to a sparring match within view of where Sansa was standing. The sun was shining brightly, and Arya thought it prudent to teach Sansa once and for all that she could take care of herself. 

Twice already she’d tried to convince Arya to remain in Winterfell while someone else escorted the Unsullied in search of the missing men. It would have been easy enough to sneak out, whether Sansa ordered her to stay or not, but she was attempting to minimize her sister’s worry, aware it came from a good place.

“Want to spar?” Arya proposed, coming up from behind while Podrick practiced his form on a training dummy. 

He was taken aback enough to put a wave in his blade’s typically smooth stroke. “Y…you wish to train La…Lady Stark?” 

She nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance.” 

He was unsure of the proper course and took a look around in hopes of guidance. Brienne and Sansa were together, above them, too far away to hear the details of the conversation. They were with the Maester, his wife and son. Although she didn’t know his name Arya recognized him as a friend of Jon’s. Sansa had given him a place in Winterfell after the Night King was defeated. “Are you certain? I could find someone else…” 

She didn’t want someone else. She needed to spar with someone Sansa respected. It was the only way to give Sansa confidence in her abilities. “You’ll do fine.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Lady Stark…”

“Is up there,” Arya said using Needle to point to the balcony. She’d let it pass the first time but wanted to break the habit quickly. She was no Lady Stark. 

“Arya…”

“One match.” Her hand flashed out. The blow was hard, but accurate, hitting Podrick’s blade and not him. “Come on,” she encouraged. 

He hissed and shook out his sword-arm. She smirked wickedly, hoping to entice him into the sport. It worked. He readied his blade and Arya’s smirk spread to a full grin. 

They circled one another slowly. She guessed Podrick still wasn’t ready to take a swing at a Stark, so she went first. She didn’t try to miss exactly, but she wasn’t using all her talents either. 

When Podrick’s sword finally came at her she danced away with a little more flourish than was strictly necessary. This was fun. It had been too long since she’d gotten to do this. She could feel the eyes on her. 

The differences in their bodies and swords forced them to approach the match differently. Given Needle’s narrow design, it couldn’t contend with Pod’s broad steel sword directly. She needed to use finesse and speed if she was going to best him. On the other hand, he could deflect her attacks easily with brute force. 

She let Podrick lead. He swung for her arm, without much enthusiasm. She didn’t move until the last possible instant. She retreated just before his sword collided with where she’d been standing. Her first attempt went for his head, trying to motivate him to give the fight his all. 

Podrick ducked to avoid being cut. She took another purposeful step back while Pod stalked closer. Swinging again she was able to keep his eyes on her sword and off her feet. While he was distracted, she tripped him as soon as he got too close. He recovered well but the stumble was all she needed. She moved around him and again made him chase her. He brought his sword around an instant after his body and she was ready for him. Needle slapped against the inside of his wrist, striking the steel guard he was wearing with a satisfying clinking sound. She grinned at him wickedly as it dawned on him how skilled she was. 

He tried harder then, no longer fearing he’d hurt her. Around and around they went. It took longer than she would have guessed to create and exploit an opening. Brienne really was a fine tutor. The match was so exciting that when it was over several of the onlookers clapped. Podrick was breathing heavily, smiling despite his defeat. He bent to pick up the sword he’d dropped just before Arya claimed victory. “Wow, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You’re better than I thought too,” she told him truthfully. 

He blushed, looking much younger. She remembered why she’d started the match to begin with. On the balcony Sansa and Brienne were speaking quietly, although both were looking at her. Good, she’d been seen. 

“Thanks,” Podrick said, reminding her he was still there. 

“Same time tomorrow,” she proposed. He nodded and from the corner of her eye she saw Sansa leave to go inside. Brienne remained. “Excuse me,” she said to Podrick. She met Brienne at the base of the stairs. “Where did Sansa go?” 

“She’d like to see you.”

“How angry is she?” she wondered. 

“Not angry exactly,” Brienne corrected, “a little confused.” They were going through the doors when she asked, “Who taught you to do that?”

“No One,” she said with a private smile. 

R-C

She had retired to her tent. The day was largely wasted as heavy rains forced them to make camp early. For Daenerys, who was already thinking about Arya, the rain provided an intense reminder. Whether it was a downpour or a sprinkling, rain always brought one particular night to the forefront of her mind. She ate dinner in her tent, alone with her thoughts. 

By the time she was growing tired, she’d given up on trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Arya. She crawled under the covers, rested her head on the pillow and went back weeks. 

It started when she was comfortable in her bed, in the Red Keep, with an open book across her lap. Try as she might, the words of some dead author detailing the histories of prominent Westerosi families did little to hold her interest. Her attention went to the rain falling outside her window and stayed there. The storm had come on quickly, just after dinner. She’d been outside when the first surge of lightning lit the sky. The clouds opened in the next instant causing Daenerys and Missandei to sprint for cover to keep from getting soaked. 

She worried about Arya as a rumble of thunder felt close enough to shake her bed. Arya’s camp lacked even the most basic protection from the elements. She didn’t have a tent or any other way to stay dry. ‘Arya could take care of herself,’ was the mantra she’d been repeating constantly to subdue her panic but as the rain continued Daenerys was becoming less convinced. 

Would she be out in the Kingswood tonight? Would she seek shelter at an inn or tavern given the conditions outdoors? Arya was a smart woman, she’d have a strategy for nights when the weather was uncooperative. At least Daenerys hoped she did. She looked with renewed purpose to her book repeating the words she saw in her head. When she got to the end of the page, she’d read every word without retaining any of them. With an annoyed huff she slammed the book closed. She set it on the bedside table next to a half-burned candle. 

Her eyes closed and she tried to command her body to sleep. Deep breaths slowed her pounding heart and calmed her nerves. She thought she was getting somewhere. Her eyes were heavy, her muscles slack and her mind empty of her worries. She might have slipped into a dream if the room hadn’t been brightened by a sudden flash of lightening and an almost immediate surge of thunder. Suddenly she was wide awake and unwilling to sleep. She couldn’t leave Arya alone in this rain, she wouldn’t. 

Unwilling to waste time, Daenerys dressed in the same clothes she’d worn that day, picking them from the pile that was due to be cleaned in the morning. It took her several minutes of rummaging around in the closet to find the cloak lined with fur she’d had made before her first trip to the North. It wouldn’t be as cold as it had been beyond the Wall, but too much protection was better than not enough. When she was ready, she stopped and went back to the desk, scrounging for gold. She collected enough to rent Arya any room in King’s Landing. Daenerys would invite her back to the castle, but she’d need a secondary plan in the event Arya was unreceptive to her offer. 

Ready to go she turned for the door and was halted before she could really begin. “Going somewhere?” Arya asked, amused. 

Daenerys hadn’t heard the door, or any footsteps. She could have blamed the rain for drowning them out, but that would have been disingenuous. There was no question Arya had been out in the rain for a long time. Her hair was dark and flat, with beads of rain water trickling down onto her face. Her clothes dripped carelessly onto the floor, forming a puddle under her. Daenerys had been right to be concerned. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a drenched blue shirt and black pants. When she stepped Daenerys heard her boot squeak. How had she not heard Arya coming? What was hardest to ignore though was the expression on her face. She was grinning like it was her nameday. 

“Going out to play in the rain, your Grace?” Arya jested when Daenerys couldn’t fashion a reply. 

That did it. She reached out, grabbed Arya’s wrist and pulled her toward the largest brazier in the room. The chill she felt when her warm hand came in contact with Arya’s wet skin propelled her faster. “By the Gods, you’re frozen!” 

Her smile didn’t falter. “It’s just a little water,” she said dismissively. “Where were you going?”

Did she truly not know? “I was coming to make sure you didn’t drown or freeze in the KIngswood!” Daenerys exclaimed. “You’ll catch your death if you stay out there tonight!” Arya’s casual approach to all of this was unsettling. She shouldn’t be the only one concerned about Arya’s health. “Get undressed!” she instructed forcefully. “I’ll find you some warm clothes.” 

She pulled firmly to try and guide the dripping woman to the fire, but she stood her ground and wouldn’t budge. “I didn’t come here to warm up Dany.” 

She didn’t? Looking at her, it was hard to imagine Arya wasn’t searching the capitol city for any place she might find shelter. If she’d been thinking clearly, she might have been flattered by the fact that Arya chose the Red Keep, with her, over the other options. “Arya, I’m serious. Warm yourself, before I send for the Maester.”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” Arya retorted. “I didn’t come for your royal protection, Dany, I came to see if you wished to join me.” 

“Join you doing what?” she spit out harshly before she could catch the words. “Arya it’s a downpour out there. Anyone in their right mind is inside, next to a fire.” 

Instead of offending her, her proclamation only strengthened Arya’s unique point of view. “Exactly. You’ve been in King’s Landing for years, right?” She didn’t answer, because it wasn’t a serious question. Arya knew well, she had. She waited to hear what nonsense came next. “How many times have you seen the streets empty? How many times have you walked and been the only person your eye could see?” She was struggling to keep up with Arya’s excited message. The city was always busy, so what? “Tonight, on the way here,” she said, “I passed only a handful of other people. Two men running for their homes, and a few of your guards, but that’s it.” 

“So?”

She held out her hand in invitation. “Come with me. See your city in a way I promise you never have before.” 

Was she serious? She wanted Daenerys to go out there just because the streets were nearly empty? She was going to refuse, emphatically, until she saw what she could only describe as hope in Arya’s eyes and it caused her to hesitate. She really wanted Daenerys to join her. She’d come all the way from the Kingswood, not for shelter but to invite Daenerys on a strange outing. “You came all the way here to get me, for this?” she asked, already knowing the answer. She made a sincere effort to take the sting out of her words. 

Arya’s grin didn’t shrink an inch. She nodded proudly. “It’s no fun playing in the rain alone,” she noted seriously. “When I was a girl, I had my brothers to play with, now I have you.” 

That was an odd compliment, but in truth, everything about this was odd. Not even in her youth did Daenerys play in the rain nor wish to. When the sky opened up, she preferred to be inside, next to a fire. That hadn’t changed as she got older, so why was she considering this? “Only for a few minutes,” she said in resignation. Arya’s triumphant expression made her make another point perfectly clear. “I’m not doing this so we can play in the rain Arya! I wish to see the streets empty as you described, that’s all.”

“Whatever you say, your Grace,” Arya said with a childish laugh. As soon as Daenerys took her hand the taller woman was pulling her out the door. Before they were outside, she heard the hard-falling rain. She was glad she’d gotten her cloak before she engaged in this madness. What in the name of the Gods was she thinking? 

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but Arya had a point. There was a certain serenity to the streets of King’s Landing when they were quiet. When she spotted the first of her guard, Daenerys turned her face away and pulled up her hood to keep her identity secret. Enough rumors were whispered about her already, she didn’t need to spark more. 

Arya ran down the center of the street, twirling dramatically, with her palms up, and her face tilted toward the sky. Daenerys’s only condition when she agreed was that they avoid Flea Bottom, where she knew rain caused the gutters to overflow with waste. There were limits to even the Queen’s generosity. 

Arya was reveling in the empty market. Daenerys was much more interested in her companion. She tried to be annoyed that she’d been coaxed out of her warm bed, but it was a difficult façade to maintain. Once her clothes became thoroughly soaked the rain didn’t bother her so much, and after about twenty minutes Arya returned from five steps ahead and took her place at Daenerys’s side. She was cold, and wet, but Daenerys felt only warmth when Arya’s arm wrapped around her. “Aren’t you glad you aren’t missing this?” she asked, her child-like grin still in place. 

Daenerys smiled along. The empty streets were unique but that wasn’t what kept her there. Seeing Arya so free, so joyous was what prevented her from returning home. She held her arm out suggestively toward what was usually a busy corner. It was deserted. Daenerys’s focus didn’t go past Arya’s gorgeous rain-streaked face. “Yes, I am,” she admitted. 

Thunder echoed and startled her. She wasn’t scared exactly, just surprised. Arya responded by holding her a little bit tighter. A totally worthwhile trade in the Queen’s opinion. 

Another block up, they came upon a tavern. She paid it little mind until Arya’s steps slowed and she guided Daenerys inside. The room was bright, but more empty than full. A few patrons sat at tables, while one serving girl rushed around to tend to them all. Behind the counter a man with light brown hair and a burn scar on his cheek prepared the drinks. She’d been here before and remembered it filled to the limit. It seemed the rain kept all but the sincerest drinkers away. She savored the way the tavern’s walls protected her from the wind, and how she wasn’t being pelted by fresh raindrops. She took a step toward the fire and Arya moved with her. She used the back of her hand to clear away some of the excess water. Every eye in the room was suddenly on them, though Arya didn’t care. Did they recognize her? This wasn’t the tavern where Arya wrestled the snakes. She couldn’t expect to go undiscovered. Arya pressed a kiss to Daenerys’s temple and then released her. “Go sit in the corner,” she said using her chin to direct her to the right one. “Keep your hood up until you get there, and I’ll get you something to warm you up.” Her eyes were lit by wickedness. “Rum or wine tonight?”

“Rum,” she declared at once. Wine might taste better, but the rum promised a warmth that Daenerys desperately craved. 

“Good choice,” Arya commented before she sent her lover in the opposite direction. 

It hadn’t been random that Arya chose that table. Sitting there, she was facing the backs of almost everyone in the room. It drastically decreased the chances any of them would realize who she was. She sighed in contentment as the nearby brazier began to heat her back to a reasonable temperature. Seeing Arya approach so gracefully with a drink in each hand and a smirk on her lips, raised the heat even more. 

She set the glasses down. “Here you go,” she said as she prepared to take the seat across from Daenerys’s.

She knew the dangers. It was possible, if not likely that someone in the tavern had recognized her already. If they did, they also saw her cuddling to Arya’s side when they entered. The kiss she pressed to Daenerys’s head was gentle and brief but not secretive. If she’d been identified rumors about the Queen’s newest consort would begin tomorrow, rain or shine. She didn’t want Arya to have to endure that, but it was equally unappealing to have her lover seated so far away from her. Choosing which was least offensive didn’t take as long as it should’ve. “You won’t be able to keep me warm from all the way over there,” Daenerys said, moving her chair to make room beside her. 

“Are you sure?” Arya asked. Daenerys knew her concern wasn’t for herself. She was worried for Daenerys. It was sweet to be fretted over, but the risks were acceptable. The rain had Arya’s thin clothes clinging to her body and without the rain to keep her attention it was becoming difficult for Daenerys not to stare. 

She shrugged out of her cloak. “Positive,” she assured her. To emphasize her point she picked up her glass of rum and took a healthy sip. 

“You’re playing with fire Daenerys,” Arya said playfully as she sat next to the Queen and settled in. 

Arya’s teasing had her smiling too. She was cold and she was wet, but she didn’t care in the least. She had Arya and that was better than a night alone in her warm bed. “I think I’ll survive.” 

The morning would bring business of the Realm and she’d need to be rested and focused. That’s why she told herself she was only staying for a single drink. Just long enough to enjoy Arya’s company before they returned to the rain for the walk back to the castle. It was a good plan, if a bit naive. When her glass was empty, she convinced herself two drinks wouldn’t be so bad, and then three. Arya kept her laughing and smiling as they drank. She’d never had anyone notice the way her hair looked when it was dripping rainwater onto the tabletop before, but Arya somehow made it sound like a genuine compliment. They held hands under the table and Dany forgot why she’d ever want to be somewhere else. Her night had not gone according to plan, but since meeting Arya she learned just how pleasant that could be. She emptied the rum from her glass for the third time and set it down, feeling more than a little drunk. 

Arya was drinking slower, more interested in keeping Daenerys amused than getting intoxicated. She held Daenerys’s empty hand under the table, resting it in her lap. Miraculously she kept her thumb moving in lazy circles around the back of Daenerys’s hand, without missing a single opening in their lively discussion. 

Was it the rum, her unending passion for the Northern woman, or her interest in remaining warm? Daenerys couldn’t say for certain but why she’d done it wasn’t important enough to dwell on. She slipped her hand from Arya’s and immediately placed it on the top of her nearest leg. 

That got a response from Arya as she was regaling Daenerys with a tale from her childhood. “I should have known better than to challenge him,” she was saying. “My brother could climb anything, no matte…” 

Grey eyes studied her as Daenerys licked her smiling upper lip slowly. She raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Your brother what?” Daenerys prompted as she began to massage the firm muscle under her hand. 

Her eyes were almost fully closed now, and Daenerys could tell her breathing had sped up. “My brother could climb anything, no matter how high,” she continued. Her words were rough, and Daenerys enjoyed being the reason why. 

“Aww did Arya lose a race to her brother?” she pouted playfully. “Poor baby.” Her mocking caused Arya to resist. She sat up a little straighter, opened her eyes again and worked to block out Daenerys’s touch. “I’ll make you feel better,” she promised deviously as she lifted out of her chair to claim Arya’s lips. She knew anyone looking in their direction could see. Perhaps they knew who she was, perhaps not, it didn’t matter. The kiss was hot, and hungry, designed to drive Arya wild. Under the table she was increasing her efforts too. Her hand had begun closer to her knee than her waist but now it was stroking across the inside of Arya’s thigh openly, pressing the wet material of her pants into her flesh. With every pass of her fingers she grazed Arya’s crotch. The more often it happened the harder Arya had to fight to remain in control. She was defiant. Unwilling to submit and that was fine with Dany because she was enjoying their game too much to stop. 

On the outside she was relaxed, unaffected by the woman next to her. Inside was a different story. She may have been the one that started this, but Arya wasn’t the only one enjoying it. Her self-restraint was tested when Arya opened her legs wider, wordlessly giving Daenerys access to what she wanted. It would have been so easy to open her pants, cup her hot center directly and make Arya moan for her. She couldn’t. Not because people might see, but because she refused to give Arya the satisfaction. All too clearly, she could picture how wet, warm and swollen Arya’s lips would be. She was very familiar with how they’d clench around her fingers as she neared her climax. Daenerys wanted to feel that more than anything, but not until Arya relented. To her, it was entirely worth the risk of falling asleep on the throne tomorrow if staying there all night caused Arya to break. 

“I should get us another drink,” Arya said, finishing off her rum in a greedy gulp. 

Daenerys wouldn’t let her get away that easy. “I’m not thirsty anymore,” Daenerys replied seductively, moving her hand just a fraction closer to the center of Arya’s thighs, “but thank you for the offer.” 

“I…am…” Arya insisted as Daenerys applied a little more pressure between her legs. 

Arya’s commitment was impressive. Dany would have been a quivering mess by now if the roles were reversed. “I have rum in my chamber,” she said, the implication clear. “Don’t you want to get out of your wet clothes?” She leaned close enough to let Arya feel her breath against her ear and asked, “Don’t you want to get me out of my wet clothes?”

“I’m not that cold, actually,” she said. If she didn’t know her so well, she might have believed her. 

“Come on,” Daenerys encouraged, finally putting her hand directly over Arya’s pussy and squeezing it. She bucked her hips into her touch and kept them there. Daenerys sensed her impending victory. “Give in and we can go someplace quiet where you can make me scream.”

“Fuck it!” Arya decided roughly. She was out of the chair before the words were done, bringing Daenerys with her. 

“Thank the Gods,” Dany hissed as Arya all but dragged her from the tavern out into the rain. 

R-C

As she was coming to the end of her memory Missandei’s voice reached her from outside the tent’s opening. “Are you awake, your Grace?”

Sleep wouldn’t come easy with Arya on her mind, so she saw no reason to send Missandei away, or let her linger in the rain. “Come inside before you freeze,” she prompted. 

Missandei came in and shook off the rain, mindful not to dampen anything significant. Daenerys separated her two blankets and then passed one to her friend. “Come in and warm up.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Missandei inquired as she shivered and pulled the blanket up to the very bottom of her chin. 

“Not so much. We’ll be in Winterfell in a few days, maybe it’ll be easier then.” 

“Are you worrying about Arya?”

She didn’t want to consider how Missandei knew that. Was she that transparent? “I just wish I could have told her where I was going before we left,” Daenerys said sadly. That was part of what had been keeping her mind occupied. The other part, and specifically why she’ll think of Arya every time she hears a thunderstorm, that was a little too personal for Daenerys to share with anyone, even Missandei. 

“When you get back to King’s Landing, think of how happy she’ll be to see you.” She gave the Queen a moment to imagine what she was proposing and then added, “It’s said that distance makes one’s feeling stronger.” 

Rather than focus solely on her relationship, Daenerys saw an opening to change the subject. “Does that work when Grey Worm is away?” It was a serious question, but she said it with a teasing tone. 

“I’m always pleased when he returns,” she said diplomatically. Her words may have sounded innocent enough, her face gave her away. “I realized I loved him when he was away,” she remarked. 

“When?” Daenerys pressed with interest. She knew that Missandei loved Grey Worm, and he her, but she had never heard this before. 

She slouched down slightly to cover more of her body with the blanket. “When he went beyond the Wall to fight the White Walkers. That’s when I couldn’t deny it anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” Daenerys had been present for the progression of Missandei’s relationship. She didn’t recall a time when she was actively fighting against her feelings. 

“I told myself I cared about him,” Missandei explained, with a smile. “He was important to me, but I resisted calling it ‘love’. I’d never been in love before, I didn’t know if what I felt for him was love or not.” 

Daenerys listened. That was a very mature way for Missandei to assess her emotions. Daenerys couldn’t claim she’d ever been quite so logical, or methodical about any of her romances. “What changed?”

“He went North of the Wall with Jon Snow and a bunch of those Wildlings,” she reminded the Queen. “It was the first battle of the war.”

“I remember,” Daenerys assured her. She had been on Drogon’s back that day. The fighting had been fierce. 

“We spent the night together before he left. I wished him well. He told me I was his reason for fighting,” she continued, wearing a private smile that left no doubt the love was real.

“What did you say?”

“I told him that he made me happier than I had ever been.”

“But not that you loved him?” Daenerys clarified. 

She shook her head. “I didn’t think I did.”

“So, when did you realize it?” It took weeks before the survivors, including Grey Worm made it back to Winterfell. 

“The first night he was gone,” she said quietly, looking down into her lap and staring blankly. “One of the Northmen propositioned me.”

Daenerys couldn’t believe she’d never heard any of this before. “What?!” 

Missandei went on, uninterrupted by the yell. “He thought with Grey Worm gone I’d be in need of companionship.” 

“Who was it?” Daenerys asked. They would be in Winterfell soon, and the Dragon wanted to have words with whoever dared assume Missandei would just climb into bed with him like that. 

“I don’t know,” she said, “I didn’t ask, and I don’t think he told me, but what his offer made me realize is that I didn’t want anyone else. Not that night, or any night. Whether Grey Worm came back, was maimed or killed, I knew right then he was the only one I wanted.” 

“That’s incredible,” she said accurately. “You never told me.”

“When you returned you had much more important things to worry about.”

“I was planning the war, and you were busy making up for lost time with Grey Worm,” Daenerys joked. “I remember him smiling a lot.”

They giggled together, and Daenerys could see the unconditional love on Missandei’s face. Just talking about Grey Worm brought it forward and made it impossible to overlook. Given how hard the early part of her life had been, Daenerys was happy Missandei had found someone she could share her life with. 

“I’ve noticed you haven’t taken anyone into your bed to keep you warm since we left King’s Landing,” Missandei said with all the subtlety of a Dothrak. Daenerys could see now that telling her about her own feelings was a path to lead their conversation to Arya. This was the second time since they left King’s Landing Missandei had brought up her feelings for Arya, like this. 

She gave the former slave an incredulous look. “The person I wish to share my bed with isn’t here.” 

“The one person,” Missandei amended. 

“Yes Missandei, the one person,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

She squirmed under her blanket in an obvious attempt to get warm. “You could be forgiven, if you didn’t want to be alone. We don’t know how long we’ll be in the North, and you shouldn’t have to freeze just because Arya couldn’t join us.” 

The thought of taking anyone other than Arya into her bed was unappealing to say the least. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted a little too firmly, “and I won’t freeze, I have the blood of a dragon remember.” 

“So, you’re saying that if Arya were here, you wouldn’t spend the night cuddled up to her?”

The Queen wished she had a mirror close, so she could see if the smirk she felt on her lips resembled the one Arya made look so effortless and sexy. “I’m saying,” she corrected, “that if Arya were here, the cold wouldn’t be my priority.”

They laughed again, the same way they had when it was Missandei’s romantic life they were dissecting. 

“Sometimes when I go to your chamber, the bed is unused. When that happens, I know you’re with Arya and I make up excuses to keep the others from wondering where you are. “

Daenerys hadn’t realized Missandei had been doing that for her. It wasn’t surprising though. There was nothing Missandei wouldn’t do for those she cared about. “Thank you, I didn’t mean to put you in such a difficult place. I don’t want you to have to lie for me.”

“It’s for a good cause,” Missandei said with conviction. “Love is worth a few small lies.” 

Daenerys was conflicted. A large part of her wanted to accept Missandei’s words and bask in the conclusion that Arya loved her, but doubts remained. Why would a woman like Arya choose her? It wasn’t for the power, she didn’t want any of that, so why? Could she feel strongly enough to be willing to tolerate all the things that came along with the Queen? “She’s never said anything.”

“Maybe she couldn’t say so in words.” 

If Missandei was right and Arya did love her, what should she do? She was still a Queen. Being in love with the Targaryen would be complicated. There were times when no matter how badly she wanted to be with Arya, business of the Realm would need to come first. How could Arya accept that, how could anyone? Possibly more important, even if Arya was willing, didn’t she deserve better?

“What should I do?” she asked, imploring her friend to help. 

“What do you want?”

Daenerys tried to objectively look at the evidence. She cared about Arya a great deal, she missed her when they were apart. She thought of her almost constantly and yet she hesitated to call it ‘love’. 

“What about this scares you?” Missandei asked when Daenerys wasn’t forthcoming with a reply. 

“I can’t love Arya,” Daenerys told her, “what we have is great, but it can’t last. Sooner or later she’ll tire of coming second to the Realm, and she’ll leave.” 

Daenerys had feared that day since her reunion with Arya at the tourney. If she was being honest, she expected it would have happened already. She wasn’t perfect, and she’d make more mistakes in the future, no matter how hard she tried not to. 

“I think she accepts you for who you are. She stayed after she saw you at your worst, why would she leave now?”

Daenerys wanted to believe that, but she lacked Missandei’s optimism. Life hadn’t been kind to her. The last time she was brave enough to love someone it ended badly, for him, and for her. When she was pregnant with Drogo’s son, she thought she had everything she could ever want. Then it was all stolen from her. Childish as her logic might be, she didn’t want to love anything if that was the result. She couldn’t go through that again. She didn’t think she’d survive it a second time. Proof existed to counter her argument, Missandei and Grey Worm for example were better together than separate but Daenerys feared she’d never be so lucky. 

“She’s not going to stay forever,” she predicted, saddened by the mere thought of Arya going. 

“Perhaps she will,” Missandei countered, “if she has a reason.” 

Daenerys wasn’t so sure. How much longer could she expect Arya to tolerate all the things she hated about Daenerys’s life. When It ended between them it was going to hurt. Did she really want to make it worse? 

“I’m already in deep enough,” she admitted, more to herself than her advisor. 

“Do you think it’ll hurt less, just because you never said the word?” Missandei wondered. 

She cut right through all Dany’s crowded, disorganized excuses. She dropped the pendant she’d been twisting and gaped at Missandei with her mouth hanging open dumbly. 

“It is still love, even if we call it something different,” she continued in that deceptively gentle way of hers. 

Missandei’s arguments were always wise beyond her years. She thought of how she would lay awake in Arya’s arms and dread the start of the day that would force them apart. She thought of how seeing Arya smile and being the cause would make her feel lighter. She remembered with clarity how every day she didn’t see Arya felt longer and more challenging than the days she did. She’d been trying so hard to justify why she couldn’t fall in love with Arya that Daenerys missed the moment she did. The realization that it was already too late made her worries meaningless. She loved Arya. 

Solving one problem led to another – telling her. She didn’t even know when she’d see Arya again. Would she ever see her again? It could be months before she returned to King’s Landing, maybe Arya would have given up on her by then? 

If there was a silver-lining to that cloud it was that Daenerys would have plenty of time to decide how she wanted to tell Arya of this new development. She could practice what she’d say or imagine different ways to let her know. Hopefully by the time she returned to the South, she’d have the perfect one selected. If she was going to confess her love to a woman like Arya, it needed to be special. 

Missandei was quiet as Daenerys came to terms with things. Once she had, she picked up where she left off. “I for one, think it was worth all the nervousness I felt the first time I told Grey Worm, to hear him say it back. I wouldn’t trade all the times he’s told me he loves me for anything, and I think you’d regret it if Arya left and you weren’t absolutely certain she knew how you felt about her.”

That was true. She didn’t like the idea of Arya never knowing. If Arya left before Dany confessed, she’d be left with questions. Did Arya know how she felt? Would it have changed things for them if she had? Did Arya feel the same way? 

“Take a chance,” Missandei encouraged kindly. “I don’t think you’ll regret it.” 

If only it were that easy. The Gods really did enjoy tormenting her, didn’t they? Guiding her to the realization that she loved Arya only when they were separated by thousands of miles, with no way to communicate. It was cruel. Dany vowed she’d remain committed to telling Arya the truth at the next opportunity. 

R-C 

Arya was becoming frustrated. It’d been days since the Unsullied arrived, since Sansa let the men began patrolling again. Days she spent hunting and she had yet to catch a sniff of her prey. She was flat on her stomach in the grass overlooking a natural curve in the road below. The location was the perfect spot to ambush a patrol. The path narrowed enough to force the troops into a single-column and there was nearby high ground for archers. She’d been hidden for most of the day. Patrols passed every hour and one after another they continued on without interruption. They’d yet to see any sign of whoever it was taking Sansa’s men. 

Giving up she stood and made the short walk to where she’d allowed her horse to roam. She rode hard to catch up with the Unsullied as they looped around to head back to Winterfell. 

Along the way they met up with two other hunting parties. Neither one had had any more success than Arya. Podrick ducked his head when he saw her. “Any luck?”

She shook her head and brushed a band of dark hair from near her eyes. “Six patrols today passed that bend in the road and none of them had a problem. I thought whoever was doing this would be eager to get back to work and that spot is ideal.” 

Pod gave her words consideration. “Maybe they didn’t know your sister opened the gates and restarted the patrols,” he said, fumbling around to explain their lack of progress. 

His innocent justification of their failures helped Arya realize something. They were being betrayed. “When the first patrol went missing, did Sansa change the schedule?”

Her question was so unexpected that it took Pod a moment to answer. “Y…yeah,” he mumbled. “We changed the time, the date, even the route and it didn’t matter, the next patrol still vanished.” 

Arya thought as much. She recalled the details from when Sansa first confessed the extent of the problem. She hadn’t seen the connection then, but now it was clear. No one could know the route the patrol would take unless they had access to Winterfell, to Sansa. She needed to get back right away! Brienne needed to be a lot more careful about who she let near her sister. 

She dismounted without bothering to tie her stallion up. There were Unsullied blocking the entrance, but Arya paid them no mind as she pushed her way through. Sansa needed to know one of those she trusted was selling her secrets. “Sansa!” she called. 

They came around the corner together, side by side. Two Queens, speaking together. Arya’s presence startled them both for very different reasons. Two voices said her name in the same breath. 

“Arya, you’re back. Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to my sister Arya Stark. Arya this is Daenerys Targaryen.”

She hadn’t thought Dany would come. She’d been so busy in King’s Landing, it never occurred to her that she’d decide to do more than send her soldiers. 

Arya tilted her head to the side and felt the smile curving her lips. She may not have predicted Dany’s arrival, but she was hardly complaining. Sansa was safe, talk of the traitor could wait while she stared. Daenerys had forgone her usual dress for leather riding pants. She looked amazing. Arya’s mind conjured up images of her peeling them from Dany’s hips. “Dany, you didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said hoping no one else noticed the way her voice shook. 

R-C

Could her eyes be believed? She’d been in Winterfell for only a handful of hours. She was walking with Sansa talking about the trip North when she heard a voice that couldn’t truly be there. She might have blamed her imagination had it not been for Sansa’s immediate reaction. She heard it too. 

Coming face to face with an excited Arya, had Dany stunned. She’d been moving so fast she nearly bumped into the Queens as they rounded the corner. She was momentarily lost in thoughts of how sexy Arya looked with leather armor wrapped around her toned body. 

The introduction was like being plunged into a bath of ice water. Arya, her Arya was Arya Stark? How could that be, wasn’t Arya Stark dead? An inconsiderate voice pointed out the similarities she overlooked between Arya and Jon. She’d always blamed the shared eye color and mannerisms on them both being born in the North. Now she could see their connection was because they shared much more than a homeland, they shared an actually home. They were brother and sister. Arya was Jon and Sansa’s sister. 

“Arya Stark?” she felt the need to clarify. The confirmation was unnecessary. No longer ignorant to it, it shone like a beacon in the dark, startling her with its obviousness. “You never said.” 

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Arya said with that smirk of hers. Instead of soothing her as it usually did Dany was suddenly burning with embarrassment and anger. Learning the truth was one thing, doing so with so many witnesses was another.

“Do you two know one another, your Grace?” Sansa prodded. The fact that Dany didn’t know how to answer made her annoyance even worse. Yesterday she would have said she knew Arya well. She’d never know everything, that was part of what attracted her in the first place. How stupid had she been thinking Arya was beginning to open up and share details of her life? The things she knew paled in comparison to the largest secret Arya had apparently been keeping. 

“We met in the South,” Arya explained to her sister. 

Their audience was waiting for the Dragon to say or do something. All around her the expressions taunted her, Missandei’s pity, Jorah’s self-righteous distrust of Arya, Tyrion’s surprise and Sansa’s confusion at all of it. 

“I knew when I saw you that you looked familiar,” Tyrion said, “but I never would have guessed.” Under other circumstances she might have appreciated the look of relief he wore at finally solving the puzzle, but she couldn’t enjoy it in her current state. 

“It was a long ti…” When Arya answered, as if there was nothing unusual about their situation Daenerys couldn’t take it any longer. She grabbed Arya by the arm and dragged her down the hall to a spot where they could speak privately. Aware she was being rude she muttered a half-hearted apology as she took Arya away mid-sentence. 

“How could you not tell me?!” she needed to know. 

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Arya said, repeating her excuse from earlier. 

It sounded even more hollow than it had the first time. How could Arya think the fact that she was the long-lost daughter of Ned Stark wouldn’t matter? “What gave you that impression?”

Arya gave her a strange look as she raised an eyebrow. “You told me my past didn’t matter, that you only wanted to talk about the present.” 

She had said that, but things were different then. That was when Arya was nothing more than a one-night lover she’d never see again. That was before she cared. “Were you trying to embarrass me?!” Daenerys snapped as her brain struggled to keep pace with the revelations. 

Arya was immediately defensive. “Is that what you think? I didn’t know you’d be here Dany. I left King’s Landing as soon as I overheard Tyrion say Sansa was in trouble.”

“You could have told me! If you wanted to help Sansa…”

“There wasn’t time,” Arya insisted. “I was going to tell you everything when I got back.” 

“Were you coming back?” Daenerys quipped. “I went to your camp in the Kingswood to tell you I was leaving but you were gone.” 

Arya’s expression softened under Dany’s question. “Of course, I was coming back. I just couldn’t leave Sansa on her own.” 

The rational part of her brain was telling her Arya’s reasons were valid. She had been the one to say the past didn’t matter and she could hardly fault Arya for wanting to help her sister, but she couldn’t just wish away her anger. She was Daenerys the Stormborn, the Last Targaryen and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms – nobody got to embarrass her this way. “You lied to me,” she accused harshly. 

Arya’s gentle and conciliatory expression was replaced by something even and empty. “I didn’t lie.” 

That may be right in the strictest sense of the word but that was hardly a distinction Daenerys cared about. “No, you just didn’t tell me the most important details of your life.” 

“Dany,” Arya said softly. She held out her hand. 

She didn’t take it. This wasn’t a minor detail. She’d missed Arya every day. She’d slowly been coming to the realization that she loved the other woman and now it was obvious she didn’t really know her at all. “We should go, the others are waiting.” 

“They can wait,” Arya said. “I meant what I said, I was going to tell you when I got back.” 

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?” she retorted. “You kept who you are a secret from me!”

“I keep it a secret from everyone,” she said in explanation. It didn’t help her case in the slightest.

“Oh, so I’m good enough to fuck, to take to bed again and again, but you don’t think I deserved to know who you are?!” Every word took effort as she fought to reign in her feelings. She didn’t know whether she wanted to cry, hit her, or both. She wouldn’t do either. Since she struck Arya during her rage over Ronan, she promised herself she wouldn’t do anything like that again. Even if she deserved it this time, Daenerys would reign in her temper. “I thought you cared about me. I believed what we had…” she couldn’t finish. 

“I do care,” Arya said with feeling. Usually so poised, it was new to see her stumbling around for a foothold in the dark, looking for some way to lessen Daenerys’s fury. The Dragon didn’t think she’d find it. “I shouldn’t have made a joke when I saw you, that was stupid. I should’ve…”

“I don’t care about the joke!” she screamed. How could Arya think she was bothered by that stupid comment? “This isn’t about you making a joke Arya!” she said defending her actions fiercely. “This is about me caring for a woman and thinking she cared for me too. We spend months together and I don’t even know you.” 

Arya’s posture hardened again, and Daenerys saw a flash of anger in her eyes to match her own. Good. If she found a soft spot, she’d know where to press. “I didn’t lie to you. I may not have told you everything, but I didn’t lie.” 

“Do you want praise for that? I thought you cared for me. I was going to…” She stopped again, not willing to reveal just how deeply she felt for the Stark. She’d been imagining how she’d tell Arya that she loved her, now she couldn’t think of a time when she deserved to know. 

“I do care… I…” 

“Did you really?” Daenerys kept going. She was too far gone to stop. “Was anything you told me true?” She thought back. “At least I don’t have to wonder why you hate the Red Keep anymore, or how you knew about the room where we had dinner.” 

“I…”

She didn’t want to hear what Arya had to say. “Let’s just go,” she suggested. “Your sister is probably confused.” 

“I want to talk about this,” Arya said, trying to salvage what she could. 

Daenerys was less interested. She was getting angrier by the second and didn’t want to prolong this conversation any further. With luck the presence of other people would keep her from saying or doing something too drastic. “I said, let’s go!”

“You said?” Arya ridiculed, without any of the usual teasing. “If you want someone who is just going to do whatever you say, because you say it, why were you ever with me?”

Who did she think she was? It wasn’t Daenerys who hid who she was. Daenerys wasn’t the one in the wrong here. Unsure if she’d be able to stop yelling once she started, Daenerys decided not to reply at all. She returned to where the others were waiting, not bothering to look back and see if Arya was following. 

The tension battered Daenerys’s limited patience. She could practically feel all the unasked questions and she didn’t want to deal with any of them. Tyrion had been keeping Sansa distracted but their conversation stopped abruptly when Daenerys returned. She was tempted to just leave but there was actual business that required her. 

“Did you find anything?” Sansa asked. 

Daenerys didn’t understand the question, until she realized it wasn’t meant for her. Arya was standing with her back against the wall. “I waited all day for them to ambush the men, but it never happened.” 

“You wanted to be ambushed?” Sansa quizzed as she shook her head. 

She wasn’t particularly happy with Arya, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea of her putting herself in danger. Rather than confess that the mere thought of Arya being hurt sickened her, she kept her feelings behind an icy exterior. “You shouldn’t be risking the lives of your men on a hunch.” 

Arya didn’t respond to her gripe. “Who had information about the second patrol that went missing?”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked. Daenerys was pleased she did, because it stopped her from having to do it. 

“Podrick told me you changed the route after the first men went missing,” Arya reminded her. 

“I did,” Sansa confirmed. 

“Who knew of the changes?”

“What are you getting at?” Daenerys barked rudely. 

“One of the people who knew the route was changed sold the information to whoever is attacking us,” Arya explained. 

“What?” Sansa said with a gasp. 

“Are you certain?” Tyrion clarified. 

“How can you know this?” Daenerys asked her hotly. 

Her grey eyes sparked with mischief and Daenerys feared what she might say. Would she mention their relationship and expose something private to everyone? Most of them already knew the nature of Daenerys’s relationship to Arya but that didn’t mean she wanted the details shared. “The attacks are too well coordinated to be random. They’d need to know where the men are going and set up in advance.” 

“Makes sense,” Tyrion agreed. “Gold has a way of shifting one’s loyalties.” 

“I’ll summon all those who had access to the information in the morning,” Sansa decided. “We’ll see if one of them will confess to selling the routes.”

“I have a better idea,” Arya said, flashing Daenerys that smug smirk of hers. “Let’s let the traitor know about a patrol tomorrow.”

“You don’t know who it is yet,” Jorah pointed out, his contempt for Arya bleeding through his otherwise valid point. 

Arya was unbothered by his disapproval. “We’ll inform each person of a different patrol. When one is attacked, we can track it back to the person who sold it.” 

“Clever,” Tyrion acknowledged. She couldn’t disagree. It was a creative solution to learn the traitor’s name. 

“I’ll be waiting with a few dozen Unsullied to spring a trap of our own.”

She couldn’t say what made her do it, what possessed her to take a private disagreement with Arya and turn it into a public spectacle. Perhaps she wanted Arya to feel the shame Daenerys was, or maybe she was just desperate for someone to hurt. “You should remain in Winterfell,” she said, knowing it would anger Arya to no end. 

“Excuse me?” She studied Daenerys hard, as if her face held the key to understanding her motives. 

“You heard me,” Daenerys said, making it worse before she could help herself. “I think you should stay with your sister. The Unsullied can put your plan into action.” 

“That’s not going to happen!”

There was a path to fix her relationship with Arya, a way to mend what was damaged between them. It wouldn’t have been than hard, so naturally Daenerys had to do something irrevocable. “I could give you an order!” she proposed, an unveiled threat in her words. Arya had been right before. A large part of why she liked Arya was because she didn’t submit to Daenerys simply because she was Queen. Arya’s independence and defiance were part of the attraction, yet she tried to command her anyway. 

“And you think I’d obey?” Arya challenged. 

“I am your Queen,” Daenerys said coldly. 

Anticipating an angry outburst, she waited and braced herself for when it arrived. The look of hurt she saw snuffed out any perverse pleasure she got from upsetting Arya. She looked physically pained by Daenerys’s use of her title to try and instigate a fight. “That’s funny, I thought you were ‘Dany’.” 

She couldn’t have cut Daenerys any deeper if she used the sword on her hip. It was delivered with the confidence and bluntness she’d come to expect from Arya, but it was an illusion. She could see the signs. Whether it was the darkening of her grey eyes or the way she kept her lips tightly closed, Daenerys noted the tension. She even picked up on the way her shoulder was bobbing. Daenerys predicted Arya was flexing her already closed fist, tightening all the muscles in her arm at once. Any lingering doubts she might have had vanished when Arya chose then to take her leave. 

“Arya!” Sansa reprimanded as the younger Stark fled. 

Unlike Sansa, Daenerys was speechless. What had she been thinking? Of course, Arya wouldn’t respond well to being manipulated by Daenerys’s title. She’d known that when she started, and she’d done it anyway. She thought of her brother then, remembering how he’d make himself feel better by hurting someone else. She’d done the same thing, hadn’t she? 

“I’m so sorry, your Grace,” Sansa said, “I’m not sure what’s gotten into her.” 

“N…no apology needed,” Daenerys stammered as she found her voice. Sansa didn’t need to apologize the blame wasn’t hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: There it is, the reveal everyone has been waiting for. I hope it wasn’t too disappointing. 
> 
> Thanks for reading
> 
> RC


	11. Chapter 11

Arya made an error when she neglected to tell Dany the truth about who she was. She’d known since they reunited at the tournament that this was inevitable. Eventually Dany would learn her identity, and they’d have the disagreement they were currently engaged in. She’d also miscalculated when she chose to greet Dany with a tease and a smirk rather than an honest admission. She hoped to earn one last smile from the woman she adored before the yelling started. It hadn’t worked. It was stupid to try. 

It wasn’t a lie when she said she didn’t think being Arya Stark mattered, but it wasn’t the truth either. It would’ve been more accurate for Arya to say, “I hoped it wouldn’t matter, but I was terrified it would.” 

Her relationship with Dany was the first normal thing in her life since becoming No One. She was greedy and selfish and didn’t want it to end. Being Ned Stark’s daughter wasn’t what she worried would unravel them. Dany had already proven capable of acts of kindness. She’d taken a Lannister into her service and held no grudge against Jon or Sansa for their father’s role in Robert’s Rebellion. No, if she only had one confession to make, she would have done it already. She didn’t mind Dany knowing she was a Wolf from Winterfell, she did however want to avoid for as long as possible any conversation about her time at the House of Black and White. She was confident Dany could see past her being a Stark. She was less certain the Queen could overlook her years as an assassin.

While she tried to tell herself Arya Stark and No One were two distinctly separate people, they had more in common than Arya liked to acknowledge. That’s why she couldn’t risk telling Dany about either of them. Any discussion about Arya Stark would ultimately lead to questions about the years the world thought she was dead. She didn’t want to lie to Dany, so instead she postponed the conversation for as long as she could, savoring every second she could steal with the Dragon. 

To keep her mind off the gorgeous Queen, Arya went in search of a map and began plotting the various patrols for the next day. Five patrols, separated from one another by hours and miles. She and a team of Unsullied would hide nearby and wait to see which route was compromised. If everything went according to plan, they’d not only learn who among them was a traitor, they’d also learn who was behind all the disappearances. 

R-C

By the time she’d come down the stairs for the first time Arya and the Unsullied had already departed. She walked around Winterfell with a smile that was only slightly forced. She was relieved she wasn’t in danger of bumping into Arya. She’d be gone the majority of the day, giving Daenerys time to think without her around to complicate things. 

Her relief was short-lived. By the time she’d finished her breakfast she’d begun to worry about Arya’s safety. They were fighting now, and she was more than a little upset, but Daenerys didn’t want anything bad to happen. The thought alone threatened to bring her recently eaten meal back up. 

To pass the time she tried to distract herself with conversation. After yesterday, she was certain quite a few people would be eager to speak with her. She started with Tyrion, hoping he would be suitable practice for the ones that came after. 

She found him in the room Sansa had prepared for him. He was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the pin she’d given him when she named him her Hand. She knocked lightly to announce herself. 

“I knew she looked familiar,” Tyrion gushed quietly once they were seated. “Call me cynical if you like, but I thought Arya Stark was dead! I can’t believe she escaped King’s Landings and survived all these years.”

And that was why she wanted to begin her day of uncomfortable conversations with Tyrion. He’d do most of the talking and she’d need only nod and add the occasional fact. 

“I’d ask if you knew,” Tyrion said, “but given your reaction yesterday, I already know you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t know,” she told him anyway. “She was just a woman I met.” 

“Where has she been all this time? Do you know how she escaped King’s Landing? What did she tell you of her past?”

He shattered Daenerys’s carefully constructed façade. These were the same questions she’d been asking herself all night as she laid awake, down the hall from the woman who held the answers. She didn’t like Tyrion’s questions because it forced Daenerys to confront one truth that was becoming too clear to ignore -- she didn’t really know Arya at all. “I don’t know,” she said in a huff. “She told me she went to Braavos and that she had a sister, I never knew it was Sansa. She told me her father was executed in King’s Landing, but I never considered it might be Ned Stark. When she mentioned her brothers, I didn’t think of Jon, perhaps I should’ve, but I didn’t. She spoke of her mother too…” At mention of Arya’s mother, he visibly tensed. It was enough for Daenerys to forget what she intended to say and ask, “What do you know of Arya’s mother?”

Tyrion appeared resigned, as if he knew this subject would eventually find them. He hung his head, his hand empty of its usual drink and began telling the story. “Catelyn Stark, formerly a Tully from Riverrun.” He surprised the Queen by smiling. “She kidnapped me once, thinking I had a hand in the near death of her son.” 

Only as she listened to Tyrion speak did she realize just how much of Westerosi history she didn’t know. Tyrion quizzed her about those she intended to meet or do business with, but he largely left the past where it was. Daenerys, for her part, had never thought to inquire. There was enough to occupy her in the present. “Did you do it?” she had to ask. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he confirmed that he did, so she held her breath and waited. 

“No,” Tyrion said dropping his eyes to his lap again. “She had the right family, but the wrong Lannister. My brother pushed Bran from the window.” 

This was interesting but she’d asked him about Arya’s mother, not her brother. “And Catelyn?”

“I liked her,” Tyrion said with undisguised candor. “Even when she was holding me at knife-point, I liked her. She had a fire in her.”

“So that’s where Arya gets it,” Daenerys thought. 

“Perhaps it is,” Tyrion commented, responding to what she thought was a private musing. “Her mother was strong, she had to be to not only survive life in the North, but to thrive here.”

“What happened to her?”

“My father happened,” Tyrion said, his smile gone. “When Ned Stark was executed his daughters were imprisoned in the Red Keep to try and control their brother.” 

“Jon?” Daenerys questioned. She’d spoken to the former Northern King at length and he never mentioned Arya. Daenerys only knew Jon had two sisters, Sansa and another who died. 

“Not the bastard,” Tyrion amended, “Jon had an older brother, Robb. He rallied the North just as Jon did and marched them South to kill Lannisters and free his captive sisters. What he didn’t know then, what no one knew is that Arya apparently escaped and managed to cross the Narrow Sea.” Tyrion’s smile was back by the end. “I’m sure you’ll agree, that’s no small accomplishment, especially for a lone girl.” 

No, it wasn’t. She’d sailed with war-hardened men and not all of them lived to see Dragonstone. It was a minor miracle that Arya reached Braavos in one piece. Another that she made it back to Westeros years later. Since Tyrion was looking to her expectantly for a reply, she gave him one. “No, it couldn’t have been easy,” she said with little feeling.

“My father conspired with Walder Frey to kill the Starks. He lured Robb, his mother, his pregnant wife, and all of his most loyal to the Twins under the guise of a feast to celebrate a wedding and then with Lannister help, he had them all killed.” 

Daenerys knew as well as anyone just how ruthless the fight for power could be. Still, she felt obligated to ask, “All of them?”

He nodded grimly. “Arya and Sansa’s mother died there at The Red Wedding.” 

“The Red Wedding?” she repeated, seeking more information. 

“That’s what the people of Westeros called the massacre. It ended all talk of a Northern Rebellion and scattered the living Starks like dust on the wind.” 

She was being submerged with new information. There were so many things she wanted to know. Where could she even start? “Was Ned Stark as evil as my brother led me to believe?” It seemed odd that someone who had so many answers to the questions that tormented her was by her side almost all the time. She’d just never bothered to ask him. 

“Ned Stark was an honorable man. Too honorable some might say, but he wasn’t evil.” 

“What do you say?” She pressed him for a direct response. She’d come to rely on and trust in Tyrion’s judgment, so she wanted to know his opinion of the infamous Stark patriarch. 

“It was his trust in the goodness of people that got him killed,” Tyrion recounted, sounding almost bitter. “He was good enough to give my sister a chance to spare the lives of her children, and in return he lost not only his life, but also condemned several of his children, his wife and his grandchild to the same fate.” 

“Viserys always told me the Starks were mindless attack-dogs for Robert.” 

“I never met the man, but Viserys didn’t know what in Seven Hells he was talking about,” Tyrion said with some force in his words, letting Daenerys know he was serious. “Your brother kidnapped Ned Stark’s sister, your father murdered his brother and his father. He had cause to join Robert’s side when he took up arms against your family.” 

Yes, she’d heard it all before. Her evil brother kidnapped the innocent Stark just before she was to be wed to the Baratheon. Why were they talking about this, when she was supposed to be learning about Arya? With so much she didn’t know about the history of the lands she ruled, why was he wasting time on the one story she knew by heart? “I know…”

“Do you also know that Ned Stark could have claimed the throne in Robert’s place?” She relaxed slightly, her annoyance melting away. She didn’t know that. No one had ever told her Ned Stark could have been King. “Your father was dead, the city was being overrun with Lannister troops and the throne sat empty. Ned could have taken it while Robert was occupied, but he didn’t. For him it was never about seizing power or becoming King. He spent years at war, risking his neck for Robert and when it was finally over, he asked nothing of his friend, the new King. He didn’t ask for lands, for titles or gold, he just wanted to go home. His only ambition was to return to his wife and raise a family. That’s what he did, until that same friend showed up years later to destroy his life again. That’s who Ned was. You can decide for yourself if you agree with Viserys.” 

He’d certainly given her plenty to think about. It was hard to reconcile what she thought she knew about Ned Stark and his new role in her life as Arya’s father. “Did you know Arya when she lived in the keep?”

Tyrion nodded first, then the words followed. “I did. She was a child, she and Sansa lived with their father in the Hand’s Tower. Our paths didn’t cross often, but I remember her.” He paused to think and then said, “I should have seen the resemblance, but I assumed Arya long dead.” 

Daenerys was much more interested in what Tyrion might be able to tell her about Arya as a child. “What do you remember about her?” This wasn’t an order from a Queen to her advisor just a plea from a woman who was trying to find sense in chaos. 

“While Sansa favored her mother and was the embodiment of a Lady, Arya was her father’s daughter from end to end. She was always dirty and getting into trouble. More than once before her father was killed, I heard him chastise her in public, for one wrongdoing or another, only to later privately compliment her abilities or provide encouragement.”

“If it was private, how do you know?”

He gave her a sly smile. “It was the Red Keep Daenerys, and you know as well as anyone how many ears that place has.” 

She thought back to the lessons Tyrion thrust upon her. “She lived in the Red Keep during Robert’s rule?” 

“Not long before he died King Robert rode to Winterfell and requested his friend’s help again. Ned being who he was gave it, and we all know how that turned out.” 

No additional questions came to mind and Daenerys was left to decide if that was because there was nothing else she wanted to know, or if maybe she’d grown weary of learning the answers. She had a much better sense of who Arya was now, or at least who she’d been before her father was killed. 

“Who executed Ned Stark?” Daenerys wondered. If Robert was a dear friend, he wouldn’t have ordered it and she couldn’t understand why his surviving children would have their father’s best friend murdered so soon after. 

“Our illustrious King Joffrey,” Tyrion spat with no small amount of contempt in his voice. “You know me, I hate to admit when I was wrong, but I was wrong. I thought for sure he’d get sentenced to the Wall. I’d been hearing for days about how Cersei was manipulating things. I thought he’d confess his crimes, be granted mercy from the new King and ride North to begin his life in the Night’s Watch.” 

“What did happen?” she asked genuinely interested. She’d heard Ned Stark was executed many times from many mouths but that was when he was a Baratheon loyalist. Now he was Arya’s father and she wanted to know more. How did a man so lauded for his honor end up under the headsman’s axe? 

“Joffrey got up there for his big show,” Tyrion recalled sarcastically. “Prancing about, like he’d done something special. As if he’d rid the Realm of Ned Stark singlehandedly. With all those people watching, with Cersei whispering in his ear how evil Ned was, he was incapable of showing mercy, even if that was what they’d planned. When the moment came Joffrey ordered him executed. He didn’t even have the balls to do it himself.” 

“So, you never saw Arya after that?”

“No, I saw Sansa frequently, and knowing what she endured during that time in her life, I’m truly glad Arya wasn’t there.” Her face must have shown the natural next question because she didn’t have to wait. “Joffrey loved to torment Sansa, especially after her father was gone. She had no one to turn to. On more than one occasion he took her out to look at her father’s head on the pike.” Daenerys was horrified as she imagined it. “Sansa suffered and if Arya had been there, she would have suffered too.”

They sat together in a peaceful silence. It may have lasted as long as an hour. She knew she should move on. Missandei would surely want to talk, and Jorah too. Those monumental tasks said nothing of speaking to Sansa and trying to explain her relationship with Arya. 

“So, you and Arya huh?” Tyrion jested when he felt it was safe. “Should we be planning the wedding?”

This knocked Daenerys off-balance. He was approving? The joke about marriage aside, she didn’t think Tyrion would be happy about her one-night lover becoming a regular occurrence. “You don’t mind it? You aren’t going to tell me I need to end it? I shouldn’t put the Realm first?”

“You saw her when you were at the tournament didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I spent time with Arya and then rejoined the others to meet with the winners.” 

He thought for a moment and then nodded, as if he’d come to some conclusion. “The next night when you emptied the keep, you were seeing her?” 

There was no point in lying anymore. “Yes.”

“Few who lived in the Red Keep before you were ever happy. Take my word for it, I was there to see plenty firsthand. If you are, and Arya’s the reason, so be it.” 

“You aren’t going to try and talk me out of seeing her?” she asked a little cautiously. She thought she’d need to convince Tyrion to get even marginal acceptance for their relationship and yet, he was on board immediately. 

“She’s good for you. She makes you a better Queen.” 

She didn’t disagree, but she had to know how Tyrion decided that with only a fraction of the information Daenerys had. “How can you say that? You knew her as a girl, and you saw her once but didn’t speak to her. What about any of that tells you she’s good for me?”

“Look at the evidence,” Tyrion urged. “You meet with Arya and then suddenly decide to give the winners of the tournament extra prizes.” He let that sink in for a moment and then started again. “You spend the night together and the next morning you wake up with this new idea to get Merryweather support for the orphanage.” 

He had a point, it wasn’t coincidence. “I… she…” she stammered, unsure of what she really wanted to say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her sooner.”

“You’re allowed your secrets Daenerys,” Tyrion said softly. “If you’d asked for advice, I would have told you to be discrete and have fun.”

This was unbelievable. From the time Tyrion pledged himself to her, he’d been preaching the virtues of allies through marriage. It was one of the many reasons she didn’t bring Daario to Dragonstone. Tyrion always told her the day would come when she’d need to wed to secure an alliance. Although it hadn’t happened yet, she’d be stunned to learn he’d given up on the idea entirely. “What is your advice now?”

“Have fun,” Tyrion said. 

“I no longer need to be discrete?” she clarified. 

“I would have cautioned you to be discreet when Arya was just a common woman you made your consort. Now that woman is Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

She threw her hands up. Suddenly angry at the way he was speaking about Arya. “That’s ridiculous. Nothing has changed. She was Arya before and she’s Arya now.”

Tyrion lowered his voice in hopes Daenerys might do the same. He tried to calm her by restating the facts a little gentler. “To you she’s Arya but to your court? How would it look if you chose a common woman after denying so many marriage proposals?” 

She understood what he was saying, she just didn’t like it. “Tyrion don’t…”

He didn’t heed her warning. “Now if you want to bring Arya out to the court, to marry her or just name her your consort, you could. She’s the daughter of Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully. Those are two deeply rooted, well-respected families.” 

She’d had enough. Tyrion’s earlier generosity made sense now. It wasn’t because Arya made the Queen happy that Tyrion accepted her. He was looking at the politics of it, as he always did. Arya wasn’t the common woman Dany believed her to be, she was Northern royalty. No one could claim she had selected an unsuitable partner. He hadn’t said it, but she doubted it escaped him that as long as she was with Arya, Dany’s relationship with Sansa and all the Northern Houses would improve as well. If she was sharing her bed with Arya, the North would always come when she called. 

R-C

She resisted the idea of discussing Arya with Jorah at all. His problem wasn’t with Arya, he didn’t even know her. She was just the most recent person Jorah had to watch Dany be with. His love for her was real and it made him dislike from the first instant anyone he saw occupying a place in Daenerys’s life that she denied him. Whether it was serious or meaningless, male or female, he hated them all. Talking to Jorah would open old wounds for him and renew the guilt she felt at her inability to give her oldest friend what he wanted. She couldn’t love him back the way he wanted her to and that was never going to change. No, she’d spare both of them that pain and go find Missandei instead. 

On her way, she stopped to talk to some of Grey Worm’s men. They were escorting two of the patrols back without injuries. After a brief exchange she learned there had been no attacks yet. She felt relief knowing Arya and everyone else was safe, but their situation couldn’t end until things changed. 

Jorah found her as she was finishing up with the Unsullied. She could tell from a distance he was not going to join her in her decision to avoid talking about Arya. As soon as he was in front of her, he proved her right. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

“I’m fine,” she assured him. 

“I came looking for you last night, you must have been asleep,” he said. She did her best not to blush or look away. She’d known he knocked because she heard it. She hadn’t wanted to talk then and even less so now. “I knew I couldn’t trust her the moment I laid eyes on her. There was just something about her.”

Daenerys scoffed. “The first time you saw her she was building an orphanage, for free, what about that did you see as duplicitous? 

He didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t. Arya didn’t have an ulterior motive for volunteering her time beyond fulfilling one of Dany’s dreams. 

With nothing else to fall back on he went with his strongest argument. “She lied to you. If she’s lied about that, what else has she lied about?”

She’d be dishonest if she told Jorah she hadn’t wasted most of the night wondering exactly that. If Arya lied about her name, was any of it true? Only one person knew for certain, and it wasn’t Jorah. 

“…Ned Stark would have executed me, if I didn’t flee to Essos.” 

Daenerys got the impression she’d missed more of his rant than just that last part while she was thinking. “I gave you a second chance, didn’t I?”

“Khaleesi,” he said ducking his head as he always did when he spoke of betraying her. “I regret that, you know I do. It’s not the same. You knew me well. Arya has clearly been trying to use you.” 

She’d gone into this, fully aware of Jorah’s feelings for her, knowing she’d need to tread carefully. She was successful until Mormont began making assumptions about Arya’s intentions. She didn’t even try to hold her tongue. “I know Arya better than you think. I know that she can be kind and sweet, generous and funny. She’s stubborn and brave. She’s never asked anything from me, not a favor, not a coin, nothing.”

Jorah wasn’t done. “That doesn’t mean she won’t ask later. She could have met you and then planned to…”

This conversation was over. “Arya didn’t seek me out and worm her way into my life. She couldn’t have because it was me who introduced myself to her, me who sought her out, me who kept finding time to meet with her after long days on the throne.”

“Daenerys…” Jorah began. 

“We are done talking about this. I’m late, have you seen Missandei? 

“Last I saw she was preparing to climb to the top of the tallest tower in all of Winterfell.” 

“Why?” Her fingers toyed with the pendant around her neck. Not even the disagreement she and Arya were involved in was enough to make her take it off and replace it with another. 

“She heard that’s the best place to watch for signs of the men returning.”

Daenerys understood immediately and took off running. When she heard Jorah following, she yelled for him to remain where he was. She was a terrible person and a worse friend. Missandei was going through the same thing she was. Maybe not exactly, but close. Dany was on edge because Arya was risking her life for this scheme of hers. Missandei was anxious because Grey Worm was leading fifty Unsullied who along with Arya would intervene if and when one of the patrols was attacked. 

She saw her friend, standing in front of the largest window, looking out. She hugged her close and they comforted each other without words. 

When she was able to talk, they remained side by side, whispering in the otherwise empty tower. “Have you spoken to Arya?” 

She shook her head. “No and that’s not important right now. We can talk about my problems later, they’ll still be there.”

“It helps,” Missandei told her, “keeping my mind on other things. Anything to keep me from counting the seconds until he comes back safe.” 

Daenerys knew that tactic well. Sometimes the only thing that could distract from your problems, was someone else’s. If it did help Missandei it was worth it. As an added bonus she’d get the opinion of her most intelligent advisor. 

“No, I haven’t spoken to Arya. They’d already left by the time I woke.”

“Are you upset?” She knew what Missandei was doing. She was breaking the complicated issue of Daenerys’s relationship to Arya into small easy to answer questions. 

She thought for a moment about the answer. She was upset. Upset that it was fate and not Arya who revealed the truth. She was upset that while she was falling in love with the Northern woman, Arya was keeping her biggest secret. She’d convinced herself that Arya saw her as a woman and not a Queen. They were equals in Daenerys’s eyes when they were alone. Could that still be true if Arya didn’t reveal who she was? “I wish I was angrier,” she admitted in a moment of weakness. “Anger is easier to contend with then hurt.” 

Missandei pressed against the Queen’s side a little more firmly. “You’re hurt she lied to you?”

And this was where it got complicated, because in the privacy of her bedchambers the night prior she relived every second she spent with Arya from the first night to their last. She studied each word for provable lies, and she counted exactly zero. As far as she could tell Arya had never lied to her. Left out important things, definitely, but she never outright lied. Daenerys had yet to decide if that made any difference to her at all. “She didn’t lie,” she said, feeling obligated to defend Arya. “She didn’t tell me a lot of things I wish she had, but I don’t think she lied.” 

“Is that better?” Missandei asked, cutting through all the unimportant bits to the question Daenerys was struggling with. 

“I don’t know.” Unwilling to spend another second on that concept she moved on to another. “I should have seen it,” she said in reprimand of herself. “I knew Jon and Sansa, heard of their sister, Arya even told me she was from the North, I just never put it together.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” her friend said to comfort her. She’d come up the tower to console Missandei and somehow, they’d switched positions. 

“I should have,” she said, unwilling to take the absolution Missandei offered. “There must have been some clue I missed.” 

They sat in the quiet for a while. Daenerys enjoyed it. Her life was always so loud, so busy, moments like this were few and far between. 

“Do you think her feelings were real?”

She wanted to say ‘no’, to insist everything Arya said or did was a lie, it would have been easier. What she was left with was plenty on both sides of the scale. She thought of the way Arya looked at her, the way she listened when Daenerys talked instead of just acting as though she were. She remembered their nights of passion and the way Arya lavished her in attention. No, Arya Stark may have withheld her past, but Daenerys couldn’t believe the whole of their affair was a lie. The feelings had to be real, otherwise why had Arya done it? She’d never benefited from Daenerys being with her, she never asked for anything or used Daenerys’s position to enrich her life. It didn’t make any sense. 

She must have taken too long thinking about it because Missandei spoke up. “I think she did, care about you I mean. When I went to find her, she was concerned for you. She thought something bad had happened and her worry was real.” 

“Hmm,” she hummed noncommittally. That night had been meaningful for Daenerys. She remembered the way Arya appeared to improve what was becoming a difficult day. Other than a few kisses, no one could claim Arya benefited from rushing to the Red Keep to help Daenerys prepare, but she’d done it anyway. 

“She gave you that necklace,” Missandei reminded, looking suggestively to the silver around her neck. 

Daenerys looked too. She reached for it and began to press her thumb into the largest stone. Arya hadn’t needed to do that. It was an expensive, one-sided gesture to show she cared. Daenerys continued to fidget with the pendant. She’d known from that night in the tavern when she watched Arya outwit enraged snakes that the woman was a mystery. She’d never known anyone like Arya and that was much of the appeal. She’d foolishly thought Arya’s complexities were part of her charm. She dreamed that unravelling them and learning the truth inside would become one of the never-ending games between them. She never would have predicted she’d be sitting next to Missandei trying to determine how much Arya cared, if she did at all. That was never part of the game Daenerys intended to participate in. 

“You’re still wearing it,” Missandei pointed out. “Does that mean you are going to forgive her?” 

She didn’t tell Missandei just how long she stood in front of the mirror debating whether or not to add it to her attire. Not wearing the necklace had seemed so final. Leaving it on the desk would have been a clear signal that she was no longer Dany. It would have effectively ended all opportunities to reconcile. Angry and embarrassed as she was, Daenerys wasn’t ready to cut Arya out of her life so completely. She fought to think of a way to explain such an idiotic idea to Missandei. “I had to wear it. I’ll keep wearing it until I’m sure there is nothing left of Arya and I.” 

“Why?”

She took a deep breath. “I was different with her,” she said slowly. Her mind was in the past, she saw a flurry of memories; at the tournament on the field, in Arya’s arms, in her chambers, kneeling on the floor instead of the bed, in the Kingswood, in Arya’s camp. “I was…” 

“Happy,” Missandei interjected, trying to help. 

Daenerys gave her a soft smile. “Yes, she made me happy but that wasn’t what I was going to say. With Arya I was better, a better Queen, a better person, a better friend. She made me better.” Arya’s surprise visit just after she’d sentenced Ronan to die came to mind. She’d taken a furious Dragon and calmed her. She didn’t think it was a stretch to say that Arya saved many that day from suffering Daenerys’s fury. Without Arya to intervene it likely would have taken days for Daenerys’s mood to stabilize. Daenerys hadn’t made it easy for her either, and yet Arya never faltered. 

Tyrion’s words about Ned Stark pounded in her ears. Like Arya asked nothing of her, Ned asked nothing of Robert, before or after he was King. Daenerys could definitely see the similarities. She didn’t want to abuse Arya’s good nature as Robert had Ned’s. Would Arya be better off if Daenerys ended things between them now? 

“Why do I feel like I have to choose? Is it wrong for me to want it all?” she asked after a long period of silence. “Can I be Daenerys the Queen and Dany the woman who loves Arya at the same time?” 

Missandei didn’t answer, at least not with words. She wrapped her small arm around Daenerys’s shoulders and pulled her to her side. 

R-C

Arya had barely slept the night before. She spent hours sharpening her blades, readying the thin leather armor she concealed under her clothes. She distracted herself from Dany with the promise of spilling blood. There had been a time when her thirst for death hung over every aspect of her life like a dark cloud. It was the beginning and the end of her purpose. Nothing in her life was that straightforward anymore. 

She couldn’t say that being with Dany had ended her need for violence. It was still there as she knew it always would be. What Dany did was offer a respite in between the battles and the murders. Dany was the only reason she hadn’t gone from contract to contract, killing whoever she was paid to. Dany caused her to remain near King’s Landing, even when she didn’t think they’d see one another again. Over time, and quite unintentionally Dany’s goodness spread to Arya. The darkness that polluted every corner of her life was just a little bit brighter with Dany there. The effects were noticeable. In Dany’s company she laughed and smiled more than she had since she was a child. Her dreams were further evidence. How many times had she murdered Joffrey in the privacy of her mind? When Dany was with her, she dreamt of Dragons, Queens and Wolves, both living and dead, she dreamt of her family. When she woke with Dany pressed against her naked body, her revenge and her hate weren’t the first things that crossed her mind. In those moments she allowed herself to think that maybe there could be a future for her that wasn’t dominated by death. 

Even now, aware that she would never get the chance to feel that goodness again, the hope remained. She knew what Dany thought of herself. She thought she was evil, the product of poisoned blood and madness. Every outburst reinforced Dany’s poor self esteem, leading her to believe it was only a matter of time until she ended up like her father. Arya knew better. She’d seen evil, she’d experienced it and she knew that Dany wasn’t. She had a temper sure, and she could react violently when she felt frustrated or threatened but that was a long walk from evil. She had wanted to be there when Dany realized she was nothing like the Targaryens who came before but that wouldn’t happen now. 

Mercifully movement on the road pulled her from her thoughts. They were watching the fourth patrol of the day on its scheduled route. The first three hadn’t been ambushed and Arya was losing her patience. She wanted to swing Needle, dance and kill. She almost pitied the bandits who would oppose her. They’d die painful deaths for reasons only partially related to their crimes. 

Grey Worm knelt beside her in the grass. He and several of his men had gone ahead to see if there was anyone lying in wait for the approaching group. “There is a merchant blocking the road. One of his wagons is broken.” 

That was all Arya needed to hear. She stood tall, dusted off her pants and sprinted toward the horses. She needed to see this merchant with her own eyes before the patrol did. She needed to be in place to ride in and save them if this was more than just a broken wagon. 

Grey Worm was a soldier to the core. He took his job seriously, preferred deeds over talk and when he did speak, used as few words as possible to make his point. Arya appreciated those qualities. When she saw him fight, she knew every word said about the Unsullied and their prowess was well-deserved. She learned even more about him from Dany. He was a frequent character in the stories she’d tell. She knew Dany liked him, his men respected him, and Missandei loved him. It was hard to miss the affection between the former slaves. When they were together, Grey Worm’s harsh exterior softened some, not unlike Arya’s reaction to Dany. When she was filled with doubt, sure that Dany deserved someone better, anyone other than her, she thought of Grey Worm and Missandei. They made it work, so it could be done. 

The route to the broken wagon was longer than Arya would have liked. She took a long, looping journey to avoid being seen by the men on the road. The patrol would be on a much more direct path, which gave Arya only minutes to assess the potential enemy. 

The road was blocked just as Grey Worm said. Arya’s instincts began warning of danger almost immediately. She was smart enough to listen. 

Firstly, it was the size of the group that had her wary. She counted twenty men, half as many horses and six wagons, including the one that was apparently damaged. She watched for a few seconds and saw no one fetching tools or rushing to get help. They were standing around the wagons, every man facing the direction the patrol would be coming from. This was it. 

Her squinted as she tried to get a better view. She needed at least one of these men alive to tell her what happened to all the others, but that could prove difficult with a force this large. If the men were determined to fight to the death, capturing one might prove impossible. 

“What would you have us do?” Grey Worm asked, his accent more pronounced than usual. 

“Spread your men out…” she started to say until a minor detail caught her eye. One of the wagons, the cover was pulled back, exposing the inside. Instead of goods that a merchant would be carrying, or the extra weapons and supplies she expected the bandits would have, the wagon was empty. She needed to be certain her eyes were true. “Look down there,” she said pointing without extending her arm. “See that wagon? Is it empty?”

There was a brief delay while Grey Worm verified it. “It’s empty,” he said, and then he added, “they’re all empty.” 

This was significant. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “It’s as if they are carrying far more than just those we see.” 

Arya agreed with that. “Spread your men out. When they’re focused on the patrol approach from all sides.” 

It was possible that the bandits had more men hiding nearby but she doubted it. Where she and the Unsullied were happened to be the only decent vantage point with a clear view of the blocked road. Grey Worm stayed low as he began moving away to issue her orders, but Arya’s hand darted out to still him. He didn’t yell or pull free he just stopped moving and turned his head to meet Arya’s eye. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing that she wouldn’t have stopped him without cause. He was right about that. 

“Tell your men not to reveal themselves until I’m on the road. On my command I want them to burn the wagons and kill the horses but spare the men.”

“Spare them? There are too many. There could be more. We must fight them together, or we’ll never learn who is doing this,” the soldier resisted. 

“I don’t think so,” Arya disagreed quietly. “Come back when your men are moving, I have a job for you.” 

She could tell he wanted to say more. Arya was cooking up a plan as bold as it was reckless. Sansa would hate it, Dany too if she still cared for the assassin at all. Neither of those facts altered her course.

There were small facts working in her favor. The ruse that they were innocent merchants in distress prevented many of the men from wearing armor. Some did, likely playing the role of sell-swords hired to protect the non-existent merchandise, but the majority were vulnerable. If her plan didn’t work, she’d need to kill as many as she could, as quickly as she could to thin their numbers. With the exception of those pretending to be guards, none appeared armed. Surely, they had weapons nearby but the few seconds it took them to retrieve them could be invaluable. 

Grey Worm returned to her just as the patrol on the road was coming into view. She needed to be quick. “Ride back for Winterfell, don’t stop for anything!” 

“What? We have the numbers, we can win!”

“Tell Sansa and Daenerys that this patrol was compromised. Tell them Doyle is the one betraying them.” 

“What of you?” Grey Worm wondered as he warred between following orders and fighting beside his men. 

“Your men will do as I asked?” 

“Yes, most will watch the bandits, but the rest will kill the horses and burn the wagons.” 

Arya was pleased by this. “Good. Go,” she said taking her eyes off the patrol as they slowly made their way toward the ambushers. “Tell my sister she was right, the men aren’t dead, they’re being kidnapped. Tell her I’ll be alright, and that this isn’t her fault.” She let him soak up that message before she made her final point. “Tell Daenerys to remember who is Queen, tell her to remember why she wears the necklace she does. Tell her I’m sorry and that I’d do it all differently, if I could.”

“Why not you?”

Arya stood and dusted herself off. “I won’t be going back,” she said as she began to move away from Grey Worm and the few remaining things she cared about. She went away from Sansa, Dany and Winterfell and right into the waiting arms of men intent on capturing Stark troops. They were about to get a big fucking surprise. 

The patrol already moving slow, decreased their speed even further when they spotted the men and wagons up ahead. Arya ran to get to the road first. She left her horse behind. The patrol came to a complete stop. They were looking around for any sign of the Unsullied Dany promised would ride in to save them and all they could see was Arya. 

“Having troubles?” Arya asked as she approached the supposedly broken wagon. 

“Wheel cracked,” one of the men said as he made a show of squatting down next to the wheel in question. 

“Where you headed?”

“Winterfell if we could make it. Now we’ll be lucky to find a place to hold up for the night.” 

Arya nodded in what was meant to be understanding and agreement. “You merchants?”

“Y…yes,” the man said, standing up and looking away from Arya to those around him. 

She reached up and pulled the cover off the damaged wagon. Like the one she’d seen from the distance, it was empty. There were ropes and chains in the back, along with a pair of benches but no tradable supplies. It proved Arya right and made her smile. 

“What in Seven Hells are you doing?!” one of the men shouted as she dropped the cover to the ground at her feet. 

The man who had examined the wheel stepped forward with two of the armed men on each side. “Explain yourself or I’ll cut your throat.” 

“Ben!” one of the men screamed when he saw the flood of Unsullied approaching. The leader heard his name and reacted. 

“To arms!” he called. He held out an empty hand and one of his guards passed over a heavy sword. Unarmed the guard pulled a smaller blade from the sheath on his back. 

“Easy now boys,” Arya said, raising her hands to show she wasn’t a threat. 

“Kill’er!” one of the would-be merchants proposed. 

“You do that,” Arya said smugly, “and they’ll kill you,” she said with her eyes on the Unsullied. 

One of Grey Worm’s men reached her side. “Are you well?” 

“I’m fine. Take ten men and escort the patrol back to Winterfell. Grey Worm is already on his way. If you hurry you can catch him.” 

“Nobody moves!” Ben commanded. 

The Unsullied glared at their opponent and Arya got the impression they were as eager for a fight as she was. Her respect for the freed slaves from Astapor grew dramatically. “We don’t need them. Ten of them will leave, and it’ll even out the odds for you.” 

“Maybe we take you all,” Ben countered. 

Arya smirked. “That would be difficult,” she told him. On her left the Unsullied were waiting her command. They were arranged well, with three men holding torches despite the bright sky. “Ben, it is Ben isn’t it? You and your friends need to stay calm. Can you do that? No one is going to hurt you, so just stay still.” 

“What the fuck’r you going on about?” someone other than Ben shouted. 

Arya nodded to one of the Unsullied and they went to work. Just as Grey Worm promised the majority kept the men from interfering while others began killing the horses. Ben and his men weren’t sure what to do. Several took steps toward the Unsullied, with their weapons ready but their aggression was halted when it became clear the only thing Arya’s allies were killing were the animals. 

When a torch was set to the first wagon. The unrest boiled over. A kidnapper stepped forward to try and stop the eunuch from burning the second wagon. Without lowering the torch, he retrieved the spear off his back and ran it through his adversary’s middle. Another two men rushed to his aid and were quickly cut down.

“Wait!” Ben screamed before the bulk of his men could rush toward a premature death. “What do you want?” he asked Arya, correctly assuming she was in charge. 

“We’re going to make a deal,” she informed him. “You can’t kidnap anyone without wagons or horses. As you said, we are in the middle of nowhere. With mounts you’re still hours from a warm dry place to sleep, on foot, you’ll never make it.” 

Renewed calls for her head, her ass or both reached Arya’s ears from behind Ben and his guards. She didn’t mind. If she got offended each time a man threatened to rape her, kill her or some combination of the two, she really was in the wrong profession. “I haven’t heard shit about no deal.”

“Answer a few of my questions and I’ll give you a prize bigger than any wandering patrol.” 

“Or?” Ben asked, seeking clarification. 

“Or my friends and I start killing and it’s likely most of us won’t live through the night,” Arya contended. 

With a fraction of the Unsullied gone, the odds were almost even. Arya was counting on the fact that this man wouldn’t be willing to die for a patrol that was already on its way back to Winterfell, safe and out of reach. 

“Ask then!” Ben demanded. 

“Why kidnap Stark troops?” she asked. “That was what you were going to do, wasn’t it?” She didn’t let him respond. “What happens to the men you take? Where do they go?” 

“Aye we take’em,” Ben admitted. There was a pause after his confession to see if any of the Unsullied would attack but none did. The first two wagons were burning and the third and fourth were being set aflame. “Why not Stark troops? What the fuck has that cunt in Winterfell ever done for us?” 

Resisting the urge to murder him as he spoke of Sansa was a challenge. She couldn’t do more than ball her hands into fists behind her back for fear she’d grab a blade and start killing. She couldn’t speak without promising him a painful death on her sister’s behalf, so she said nothing and refused to even blink. 

“Is that it?” Ben asked while Arya seethed. “Can we go now?”

“What’s in this for you?” Arya inquired when her rage quieted. She just couldn’t make the pieces fit. Why Stark troops? Surely there were easier targets than trained soldiers from the house of Northern royalty? Ben didn’t speak of Sansa like he knew her, his contempt was generalized and aimed at those in power. His grudge wasn’t personal and that didn’t make sense. 

“Gold, what else?”

Arya was disgusted by the implication. “You’re selling them?” 

Around her several of the Unsullied tensed, one even took a half a step forward before he thought better of it. As former slaves their reactions were visceral and understandable. If they didn’t want Ben’s head before, they did now. 

“No more questions!” Ben barked. “You’ve burned the wagons, killed our horses, sent the Starks away. Let us go.” 

Arya had a choice to make. She could let Ben and his men walk away, she could instigate the fight and make sure he died first, or she could surrender to these bandits. It came to her when she realized the wagons were there not to haul goods but to carry captives. She’d dismissed Sansa’s suggestion that the men could be alive. She’d been wrong. Now the only way she could think to learn what happened to the missing men was to join them. 

“I want to meet the man you’re selling the soldiers too,” Arya declared loudly. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Ben spit, growing frustrated with the stand off. He looked inclined to fight but was smarter than the average bandit. He saw a single Unsullied kill one of his men without dropping his torch. He was intelligent enough to see brute force wouldn’t solve this problem for him. 

Arya reached for her belt and unfastened it. Needle fell to the dirt beside her boot and she picked it up slowly before passing it off to the man standing next to her. “See that my sister gets this,” she said to him. To Ben she said, “You were wrong you know.”

His grip on his sword tightened and he ground his teeth together in anger. “’Bout what?”

“I didn’t send all the Starks away.”

He held out his empty hand in the general direction of Winterfell. “They’re gone.” 

She smiled. “They are, but I’m here. My name is Arya Stark, my sister is Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North and I’m the only hostage you need.” She gave Ben a moment to think. “I need to speak with whoever is buying the Starks.” 

She could see Ben’s surprise. He looked at her as if he’d stumbled upon a chest of gold. He wasn’t as skilled at hiding his emotions as those she typically encountered. Politicians and Faceless Men were much more adept at concealing the truth. Ben heard her identity and saw only the profit it would bring. It confirmed for her what she guessed earlier. This wasn’t personal for him. “You’re…”

“Arya Stark, daughter of Ned Stark,” she said. Since he asked a question, it was her turn. “Who pays you to attack the Stark patrols?” 

“Send your men away!” Ben demanded. She could see he was eager to get his prize someplace safe but was wary to be too overt with the Unsullied watching. 

“Answer my question and I will,” she bartered. “Who’s paying you?” As she asked it became clearer to her that these men, these obvious mercenaries were not the brains, they were the muscle. 

“You’ll meet him soon enough,” Ben promised darkly. 

That was enough. “Go back to Winterfell and tell the Queen what happened here.” 

Several moved slower than was usual, expecting Arya to issue a different order. It never happened. She needed to do this. These men weren’t the masterminds of anything. They didn’t have the answers she needed, so killing and torturing them would be of little benefit. However, if she was taken to the others, to the man pulling the strings, she might learn what all this was really about. It was a risk worth taking. “Go,” she encouraged. 

As the Unsullied left her, Ben waved two of his men forward and they approached Arya from both sides. She had several daggers but didn’t try to reach any of them. She was thrown into the dirt and scraped her chin as a boot stomped down on her back hard, keeping her flat. 

“Check her for weapons!” 

She angled her head to watch the men work. One had the marking of a mercenary company, confirming her suspicions. 

They relieved her of her daggers. “What were you going to do with this, you bitch?” one of the sell-swords asked, waving a dagger in front of her face. 

She did what she could to smirk in spite of her circumstance. Pinned to the ground, unarmed and alone she still told the truth. “I was going to stick it in your eye when the fighting started.”

The big, brawny man glared at her in poorly veiled fury. “Fucking cunt!” he screamed. He took two large steps away from the Wolf and then turned back to taunt her further. “Well I’ve got your precious dagger, so what now?”

“I’m still going to kill you with it,” she vowed, “It’ll just take a few seconds.” 

She smiled when the boot came toward her face. She didn’t close her eyes or try to thrash against the man holding her down. She embraced the oblivion that was coming. She didn’t really want to walk for hours anyway. Now she wouldn’t have to. 

Just before she gave in to the urge to close her eyes and drift into unconsciousness, she heard Ben reprimanding his wild subordinate. “Think!” he was saying, though it sounded far away. “Now we’ll have to carry her.” 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, my health didn’t cooperate. Hopefully the next one will be quicker. So, while Dany is trying to figure out how she really feels, Arya is doing something reckless. 
> 
> Feel free to let me know what you think. 
> 
> RC


	12. Chapter 12

Dany was conflicted. Arya had made mistakes, but she wasn’t alone. During their disagreement Daenerys tried to use her position as Queen to make Arya obey her. She did it in the heat of the moment, without thinking and came to regret it as soon as she calmed. Arya wasn’t the only one who needed to apologize when she returned from her day of hunting bandits. 

After postponing it for as long as she could, Daenerys went to find Sansa. She owed her an apology too. Daenerys had inadvertently brought chaos from King’s Landing and complicated an already difficult situation. Sansa’s focus should have been on her missing men, but instead she had to contend with Dany’s relationship with her sister. 

She found the elder Stark in the Great Hall, sitting at the center seat of a long table. She recalled Jon Snow occupying that spot years earlier. “Am I interrupting?” she asked softly. 

Even if Sansa was annoyed with her, she was still a Lady. Her manners won the day. She stood and smiled stiffly. “Your Grace, no come in, can I get you anything?”

Her words were polite but firm. It reminded Dany of how it was when Jon first brought her to Winterfell to help in his war against the Dead. “No, I’m fine,” she said, “please sit. I’d like to start by apologizing.”

“You don’t…”

She really did. “I apologize that my being here has caused so much additional hardship. You had enough trouble before I arrived. When I chose to come, I had no idea Arya would be here. I didn’t know of her connection to you.” She walked deeper into the room as she spoke. By the end she could feel herself smiling, in spite of everything. “She was just Arya to me, I had no idea she was your sister.” 

She was ready and willing to answer any of Sansa’s questions. Daenerys owed her the truth at the very least after everything that happened. What she heard was almost the last thing she expected. “It’s funny the lies we tell ourselves, don’t you think?”

Her cold delivery set Daenerys on edge. She tried to remain calm. “I’m not lying. I meant you no harm. I came to help, and now…”

She laughed humorlessly, a short, harsh sound that didn’t suit Sansa at all. “I meant me. Why must I lie to myself?”

Standing across from Sansa, separated by only the table she tried to understand. “What do you mean? None of this was your fault. Your sister returns, then I arrive and destroy your reunion.” 

“She was dead,” Sansa explained. “I thought about her, wondered, prayed, but in my heart, I really believed she was dead.”

Although she didn’t make the connection, Daenerys did her best to provide comfort. “That was reasonable. As I understand it everyone thought that.” 

“I wasn’t a very good sister,” she confessed. “Not to Arya, not to Jon or anyone else really. I was too busy worrying about which prince I was going to marry, how I would wear my hair and the dress I’d choose to impress my friends.”

Daenerys didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent and let Sansa keep talking. She recognized the current of self-doubt running through the words. It was something she often heard in her own voice when dealing with affairs of the Realm. It was strange, she never would have guessed Sansa was plagued by uncertainty. She just didn’t seem the type. Judging by her words, it was clear that being Queen in the North was no easier than Daenerys’s life in King’s Landing. From their initial meeting Sansa was always composed, regal and willing to fight for what she felt was right. Now, Daenerys could tell Sansa’s pain ran deep, and went back years. 

“I hated it here growing up. I used to dream of the glorious life I’d have in the South one day. Then I make it to King’s Landing, find a prince and spend every night for months dreaming of Winterfell.” 

“You were young,” Daenerys said to console her. “It’s natural to want what we don’t have.”

“I miss Jon. I treated him poorly,” she paused and amended her statement, “worse than that, I practically forced him away and he went. He had a place on the Wall. He was happier there than anywhere else, even after everything that happened. He belonged there,” she summarized sadly, “and he left it for me, to give me back a home I never appreciated. And that, your Grace is the lie,” she explained, her voice turning to steel in an instant. “When I tell this story, I say I went North to find Jon to get help to reclaim my home. That is an honorable goal, one worthy of a Stark, but it’s shit. I wanted revenge and I knew Jon, a man I rarely said a kind word to in the whole of his life could help me get it.” 

Daenerys treaded carefully around the subject of the Bolton occupation of Winterfell. By the time she reached Westeros it was over. Ramsay Bolton was dead, Winterfell was in Jon Snow’s hands and he ruled as a King. That didn’t stop Daenerys from hearing tales of the Bolton bastard’s brutality. She was confident she knew only a fraction of what Sansa suffered, but that little slice was more than horrific enough for Daenerys. “I would have done the same thing in your place.” 

“Jon would know what to do,” Sansa said without taking note of Daenerys’s reassurance. “Jon would know how to keep his people safe, to keep the North safe. He’d know what to do.”

“We are going to keep the North safe,” Daenerys promised. “We will find who is killing your men, we’ll punish them, and things will return to normal.” 

“Normal?” Sansa spat with a sour expression. “So, you and your men will return to the Red Keep and I’ll be here alone?” 

“You’re not alone. Arya is back now.” It was a bit unexpected that they were just now beginning to talk about Arya, but Daenerys imagined there were few people Sansa could be honest with. It’s one of the many reasons Daenerys savored her time with Arya. Arya had no ulterior motives. No one else in Daenerys’s life could say that. With Arya she didn’t need to put on a brave face and lie. If she could be that for Sansa, she would gladly. 

“Arya has been back for years,” the redhead said. “She told me before you arrived. She’s been in Westeros for years and she never sent so much as a raven.” 

This was more information than Daenerys had, but that was hardly surprising. Since arriving in the North she’d been forced to accept that there was a lot about Arya she didn’t know. “Your sister doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to. She came here for you.” 

“You likely know her better than I do, your Grace,” Sansa proclaimed sounding almost bitter. “I knew the girl who hated dresses and sewing. You know the woman she’s become. 

She’d come to try and apologize for the unrest she brought with her to Winterfell. She came to discuss Arya, but that wasn’t the conversation Sansa needed to have. Even if she and Arya never shared a meal or a bed again, Daenerys was in a unique position to try and repair the bond between the siblings. “I’ll tell you what I know,” Daenerys said with conviction, “I was in the Red Keep with Arya when your raven arrived. She overheard Tyrion informing me of your troubles. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t acknowledge that she heard, she just left. She didn’t tell me who she was, or where she was going, she was simply gone. Whoever your sister is, she dropped everything in her life to help you as soon as she learned you needed her.” 

She wasn’t making Sansa feel better, in fact she appeared to be making things worse. “That’s part of the problem,” Sansa said quietly, so lowly Daenerys almost didn’t hear. “For years when people asked, I told them Arya was dead, that I loved and missed her and that we were close.” She looked up from the table and Daenerys saw a glassy film over Sansa’s bright eyes. “More lies,” she confessed to the Targaryen. “I did love and miss Arya once she was gone, but I didn’t show it while she was around to see it. I would get so upset over nonsense, I mocked her interests, encouraged my friends to tease and ridicule her. I was horrible. I can’t blame her for staying away.” 

“Whatever Arya’s motives, I don’t think she was intentionally avoiding you.”

“How long have you known her? In all that time did she ever mention me?” Sansa didn’t wait for the reply. “I had a wonderful family and when I didn’t treat them as I should have, they were taken from me.” 

She’d asked Tyrion questions earlier about the history of the Starks. Here she was getting an emotional retelling of things directly from a Wolf. It wasn’t much, but she could give Sansa a small measure of peace. “She did mention you, she told me you had a taste for fine silk dresses.” She thought it best to leave out the details about what exactly she said, and what they’d been doing at the time. “She told me your mother used to have to chase after her to get her to practice her sewing, that she hated it because no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t do it as well as you.” 

“She hated the Septa’s lessons,” Sansa confirmed. “I think Arya would have preferred torture.” 

Neither Queen knew what to say next. “Sansa what happened to your family isn’t your fault.” 

She wasn’t ready to believe that, it showed on her face. “Father used to tell us that the Old Gods would punish those who didn’t cherish their family. I should have listened.” She shook the thought away and sent her styled red hair swinging in the process. “Tell me, is Arya happy?”

Given everything, she wasn’t certain she was the right person for Sansa to be asking, but they were alone, so she tried. “I think so,” she hedged. “When we’re together she seems to relax a little. She smiles and laughs sometimes. I get the sense it’s not always easy for her. She told me she was tormented by the past, but I had no idea what she meant until now.”

“I’m glad she has you then,” Sansa decreed, sounding more like her usual self. “If you can give Arya any happiness at all, I’m glad.” 

She reached out and put her small hand over Sansa’s bigger one on the table. “Everything is going to work out, you’ll see.” 

Sansa didn’t want to be comforted. Now that she’d unburdened her guilt, she was ready to talk in earnest. “What sort of things do you do together, you and Arya?”

“She joined me at a tournament outside King’s Landing,” Daenerys remembered fondly. She smiled as she recalled hiding from her guards and experiencing the matches from Arya’s arms. 

“I bet she loved that,” Sansa guessed accurately. “She always loved swords and knights. I think the day Jon gave her Needle was one of the happiest in her life.”

“Needle?” 

“Her sword,” Sansa explained. “Jon had it made for her right before he left for the Wall, as we were planning to go South.”

“She named her sword Needle?” Daenerys asked in disbelief. 

Sansa chuckled. “If you saw it, you wouldn’t think of naming it anything else, your Grace.” 

“It’s Daenerys, please.” There was no reason for Sansa to be so formal. She was Arya’s sister and Daenerys’s friend. “And yes, Arya did enjoy our day at the tourney. Much more than the time she helped me prepare for a feast.”

“She did what?!” Sansa said a little too loudly. “The only thing Arya liked about feasts as a girl was the food. She hated all the speeches, the sitting still and she despised our mother’s need to dress her like a Lady.” 

Daenerys smiled as she tried to imagine a young Arya and all the trouble she surely got into. “I’ll make you a bargain,” she proposed, “if you tell me stories of Arya from when she was young, I’ll tell you about the last few months we spent together.”

“You’d do that?”

“By the time she gets back, I’m sure we’ll both have lots to tease her about.” 

Sansa chuckled into her free hand and nodded in agreement. Daenerys doubted she and Arya would be teasing one another anytime soon, but a few stories wouldn’t hurt, and they’d help to pass the time. 

R-C

“No battleplan survives the first swing of a sword.” That was something she’d heard Ser Rodrick say once when she was watching her brothers train. That moment was frozen in her mind, she could see it all as if it were yesterday, the stance he was teaching Jon to use, the way he corrected Robb’s overly aggressive strikes. Those details stuck in her mind in a way the sewing pattern she was supposed to be mastering never could. The old knight’s advice proved true. Her grand plan for discovering who was betraying Sansa and why had fallen apart almost thoroughly. 

For most of the first day she pretended to be unconscious, even when she wasn’t. The big brute who had knocked her out had given up carrying her and was dragging her behind him by a length of rope. Whether it was intentional or not, scrapes, bruises and cuts formed all over her body as she was roughly pulled along. 

When they made camp, she couldn’t feign sleep anymore. The men ate, drank, laughed and paid her no attention. She was tied to a tree with a thick rope. She could have tried to sleep but it wasn’t worth the risk. She knew the moment she closed her eyes one of the sell-swords would attempt to rape her. She spent the night sitting up with her back against the bark, while the rope burned her skin. Being awake didn’t guarantee safety, but Arya would be waiting if anyone came close. She intended to make an example of the first horny sell-sword who touched her. 

R-C

They stayed like that for the remainder of the day. Guards, advisors and servants came and went but never stayed long. With every story told, Sansa’s solemn mood improved, and Daenerys’s problems felt further away. 

Sansa’s voice was tinged with amusement as she began the next story. “One year for my nameday my parents agreed to let a handful of my closest friends come and stay at Winterfell for a week.” 

“That was kind of them,” Daenerys said honestly. Growing up in Winterfell under Ned Stark sounded nice, far better than anything she experienced in Essos with Viserys. 

“Arya didn’t think so,” Sansa recalled. “She told my mother that if our home was going to be overrun with my friends, she’d rather live in the Wolfswood until they left.” 

“What did your mother do?” she asked after a short laugh. It wasn’t a challenge to picture Arya doing exactly that. 

“She tried to talk her out of it, of course, but Arya has always been stubborn.”

“Yes, she is,” Daenerys agreed. She noticed as the day progressed that although her anger at Arya remained Daenerys was incapable of thinking of her without smiling.

“When my mother couldn’t convince her, she left it to our father. He and Arya were always close. He understood her in a way the rest of us didn’t.”

“So, what happened?”

“Arya gave up her bed in our room for one of my friends to take and moved down the hall,” Sansa said with an indulgent shake of her head. Father let her join our brothers when they went riding and hunting. She typically wasn’t allowed, except for that week.” 

Having raced Arya on horseback and eaten food she hunted, Daenerys could attest that Arya obviously made the most of the opportunity. “Perhaps that’s when she learned to hunt and cook.”

“Arya can cook?” Sansa wondered with no small amount of skepticism. 

“Not in a kitchen,” Daenerys clarified. “Occasionally when your sister and I are together, she’ll hunt and cook for me.”

“In King’s Landing?”

“Outside the gates,” she explained. She could tell Sansa didn’t understand why a woman with a keep and servants would choose to dine on whatever Arya could catch. “Sometimes when we go riding, we’re too far away to return to the city for a meal.” She didn’t think her lover’s sister needed to know just how often Daenerys fled the capitol for the peace of Arya’s camp. She adjusted the truth accordingly. 

She heard them before she saw them. Missandei’s familiar voice coming from outside the door. “Wait!” she was saying. 

The Queens looked at one another and then stood. Sansa had had tea brought in, but the cups were long empty. They were side by side, when the door opened, and Grey Worm marched in with two of his men. His face was grim, but he looked unharmed. She felt relief for Missandei, aware of how worried she’d been. That relief vanished when Missandei arrived behind the soldiers. “Are you hurt?” she was asking Grey Worm. 

Daenerys had trouble believing her eyes. Grey Worm was not only an excellent commander, he was also a good man. She’d never once heard him speak to Missandei without respect and care. Now he was ignoring her outright. Something was very wrong. “What happened?”

Grey Worm took a knee in front of the royals. “I bring word from your sister.” A knot formed in the pit of Daenerys’s stomach and she had to resist the urge to gag. 

“Where is Arya?” Sansa demanded. 

“She sent us back without her,” Grey Worm said, keeping his eyes down. “She wished you to know you were right, the men are alive.” Standing tall again, he took a look around the room and lowered his quiet voice further. “Doyle is the one who betrayed you.” 

“Where is my sister!?” Sansa tried again. 

Daenerys knew Grey Worm well enough to know the news he brought wasn’t good. Daenerys put a comforting arm around Sansa’s shoulders in anticipation of the words that could destroy them both. “She asked me to tell you that she’d be well and not to blame yourself.” 

It didn’t escape Daenerys’s notice that Grey Worm wasn’t answering the question. That wasn’t like him. “Answer her!” she demanded of her friend. 

Grey Worm’s eyes moved to Dany. “She had us burn the wagons and kill the horses so they couldn’t take us, then she ordered us to leave and surrendered.”

Surrendered?! Nothing she knew about Arya led her to believe she understood the meaning of the word. While she was coming to grips with what that meant, Sansa was growing angry. “You left her!?” she shouted. “Why would she do that? Arya’s not afraid of anything. I’ve seen her fight. She wouldn’t just give up!”

“You told me to follow her,” Grey Worm reminded Daenerys. She had given him that command before she retired to her room the night before. She never imagined that instruction could lead to this.

“What of the patrol?” Tyrion asked. He must have heard the yelling and come to investigate. 

“Safe,” Grey Worm reported without any pride or triumph.

“Why didn’t you fight?” Daenerys needed to know. 

“I wanted to, we would have won but the losses would have been many.” 

“What happened exactly?” Tyrion tried to clarify. 

Sansa clung to Daenerys’s side as they listened to how Arya’s original plan was altered upon discovering the bandits were kidnapping the soldiers and not killing them. Grey Worm repeated his desire to fight multiple times. 

As he neared the end, he waved one of his men forward. In his hands he held a faded leather belt with a sword attached. It meant nothing to Daenerys, but Sansa had an immediate response. “Arya, no!” she cried as she covered her mouth with her hand. 

The small, narrow sword was unlike any she’d ever seen. To her untrained eye it didn’t look capable of hurting anyone. When it occurred to her the sword was likely crafted for a child, she understood. Needle. Just as Sansa promised, she finally could make sense of the name. 

While she’d been studying the sword, Grey Worm had been finishing his telling of the events. “Why would Arya just announce her identity and give herself up?”

“If I may,” Tyrion said after clearing his throat. “If Arya is right and the missing troops are alive, they have to be somewhere close.”

“So?” Daenerys whined. Now was not the time for one of Tyrion’s long-winded explanations. Sansa was on the verge of a breakdown and Daenerys wasn’t much better. 

“Arya could have fought the men, but then what becomes of the captives?”

When Sansa’s mouth opened to speak a sob was all that escaped. Daenerys took over. “You think Arya allowed herself to be kidnapped so she would be taken to wherever the others are?”

“That’s a good strategy,” Grey Worm added, providing the opinion of a soldier. “She had us kill the horses and burn the wagons to slow them down.”

“Send out the men!” Daenerys demanded rashly. If Arya was with professional kidnappers, they needed to find her quickly. 

“The North is vast, Khaleesi,” Jorah told her, as if she didn’t know. “Without a place to begin looking, we’d likely lose more men.”

“I don’t care!” she fired back. She wasn’t going to do nothing while Arya suffered.

Another sob from Sansa reminded Daenerys that the anger and pain she felt weren’t hers alone. She couldn’t make the decisions on her own. Sansa was as involved in this as she was, and she deserved a say. “Sansa, I could have Grey Worm find this Doyle and escort him to the dungeon, if you like?”

She was startled briefly but rebounded. “Y…yes. If Arya is right and he’s selling the routes of our patrols he will answer for his crimes.” 

Grey Worm sent his men to find the traitor. “I want five men on the door of the dungeon at all times. No one sees the prisoner without approval from Sansa or I.” 

Seeing Sansa struggling was a mirrored reflection of her own feelings. She’d been so angry with Arya the day before, embarrassed, furious even and now that seemed almost meaningless. Their problems could wait until Arya was back safe. 

“Leave us!” Daenerys ordered, sensing Sansa would benefit from some privacy. Tyrion and Missandei each gave her looks that asked if they too should go. She nodded. Jorah lingered near the door and was one of the last to depart. The room emptied until only Grey Worm remained. “Is there something else?” she asked a little harshly. 

“Arya had a message for you as well, your Grace.”

Suddenly Daenerys couldn’t breathe. She pulled air into her body until it hurt to take anymore, and it wasn’t enough. The delay must have been longer than she realized. “I can give you a moment,” Sansa offered. 

Daenerys wasn’t about to send her away in her own home. She was Arya’s sister and knew about their relationship. There was no reason to keep more secrets. Her arm had fallen off Sansa’s shoulders at some point, but she gripped her arm to keep her from leaving. “Go…on…” she said in a slow, disjointed way. 

He spoke in Valyrian, an attempt to keep Sansa from understanding. Was he avoiding the common tongue because Arya’s message was too personal for Sansa to hear? If that was the case, it probably wasn’t hateful. It was also possible that Grey Worm was trying to limit her embarrassment. 

He spoke faster in his native tongue than he did in any language, but Daenerys had no trouble getting it all. “She wanted you to remember who is Queen,” he said. Dany’s entire body shook. He wasn’t done. His eyes settled on the necklace she wore, and Daenerys instinctively picked it up from off her skin and began turning it over between two fingers. “She wants you to remember why you wear that, also.” It was taking all of her energy not to cry in front of Grey Worm and Sansa. Her grip on the necklace tightened. “She said ‘sorry’, and that she’d do things different if she could.” 

Her commander left when the message was complete. Hearing Arya was sorry was what she’d been aching for since their fight. She wanted to know if Arya regretted keeping her identity hidden and now, she did. It was also sweet for Arya to reinforce the lessons she’d been trying to teach Dany since the night they met – that she alone was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and that she could be both a ruler and a woman. 

If she’d been there in that moment, Daenerys would have forgiven all her mistakes and wrapped Arya in her arms. She would have peppered her with kisses while she apologized for her own errors and begged openly for the chance to fix things. That’s what she wanted, but she couldn’t have it because Arya was gone. 

R-C

Arya chose to make the kidnappers walk to deter them from trying to take anyone else. It had been an efficient idea that didn’t take into consideration how exhausting it would be, not only on her, but on the sell-swords too. The longer they walked, the worse their moods became. The supplies the men had were long gone and Arya still had no idea how far they were from their destination. 

Her stomach was empty, she was sore, tired, and filthy. She’d been surviving on scraps of food thrown at her, the occasional sip of water and naps of no more than a few minutes at a time. She was strong but didn’t know how much more she could take. 

She’d been beaten several times, often by the same man who knocked her unconscious that first day. Arya added his name to the new List she was creating. Once she had her answers, and freed Sansa’s men, she’d kill him as she had so many others before. 

When the men led her toward a worn-down barn Arya thought they were just choosing a place to stop for the night. That was until a pair of mercenary types approached to greet the new arrivals. 

“What the fuck took you so long? We were expecting you back days ago.” A tall man with a dark beard asked. 

Ben turned to find Arya in the line of men and pointed her out. “She happened.”

“Who the fuck is that? Where’s the patrol?”

Next to him the second man had questions too. “Where are the wagons and why the fuck are you’se walking?”

“Is he here?” Ben asked, looking around the tall man to get a look behind him. “He needs to see this.” 

Arya had been trying not to hear most of the conversations happening around her. There was only so many times she could hear men brag about the women they fucked, or the men they killed. Now though, she was interested. She’d allowed herself to be taken so she could see who was acting against Sansa. Whoever it was, was likely the one Ben was looking for. 

Ben, a handful of his men and the two who greeted them went off to the West while Arya was escorted into the barn. It was poorly lit, so it was hard to be certain but on first glance she’d found Sansa’s missing men. The barn was empty of animals, but there were plenty of cages. Getting an accurate count was a challenge. Some cages held one man, others more, some were stacked one on top of the other, while a few were barely visible from where she was standing. Dozens had been taken, her gut told her she’d found them all. 

She waited for the mystery partner to reveal himself, but it didn’t happen. The man holding her leash dragged her along to a small empty cage and used his foot to nudge the door open. “Take off your clothes and get in,” he ordered. 

“Fuck you!” she spat. Antagonizing these men wouldn’t benefit anyone but she couldn’t resist. Why should she make it easy for them? It wasn’t as if they were going to be kind and generous if she was an accommodating hostage. They were putting her in a fucking cage. 

He hit her and she fell back into the cage that would be her home. The iron rattled and two punches later she was once again dreaming of Dany. 

R-C

Daenerys’s advisors were mixed in with Sansa’s and they were all debating the best course of action. Doyle was in the dungeon, claiming he was innocent of the charges against him. He was denying knowing anything about any of the kidnappings, including where Arya might be. 

She wanted to mobilize the whole of her army to find Arya. She’d even send for the Dothraki if necessary but everyone except Sansa was cautioning her against it. 

“Grey Worm and his men saw a band of at least twenty-five men,” Jorah said. “Small search parties are more likely to be taken than successful.”

“We’ll send searchers in groups of fifty, or seventy-five I don’t care! Send everyone!” 

Tyrion was more reserved, and soft spoken but no less opposed. “Large groups would move too slowly to be of any practical use.” 

She glared at her Hand. “Are you suggesting I do nothing then?”

Tyrion wisely knew better than to say ‘yes’. “I’m not saying that,” he assured her. “We all want Arya and the others returned safely, I just don’t think sending every able-bodied man in Winterfell wandering is the best way to accomplish that.” As he finished, he flashed an apologetic look to his former wife, who gave him a tight, forced smile in reply. 

“What do you suggest?” Sansa asked before Daenerys could yell again. 

“The traitor, he’s still alive, yes?”

“For now,” Daenerys declared darkly. This man had helped facilitate the kidnapping of dozens of her allies, including Arya. He was going to beg for death before it came. 

“Be grateful he is,” Tyrion said, giving Daenerys a look that warned she was losing hold of her temper. “We need him to talk. He can’t do that if he’s dead.”

“Why do we need him to talk?” Missandei asked. “He told you he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know where Arya and the others are.”

“There is more going on here than that, I can feel it.” 

“We’re making decisions based on your feelings now?” Daenerys quipped rudely. Why were her advisors, her friends not running out to find the woman she loved?

“It’s already dark,” Jorah pointed out. “We can’t do anything tonight. Perhaps we should rest.” 

He wanted her to rest? Did any of them really think she was going to get a wink of sleep tonight? 

Brienne of Tarth was a formidable and likable woman. Daenerys admired her for choosing her own path in a man’s world. “I’ll have the remaining men broken into search parties and ready to depart at daylight,” she proposed. “I’ll lead half and Podrick can take the rest, if it pleases you m’lady.” 

“Thank you, Brienne,” Sansa said kindly. 

Frustrated that they wouldn’t be mounting a rescue before tomorrow Daenerys needed space. She wasn’t sure where she was going, she just went where her feet carried her. 

R-C

She woke without clothes, with a sore neck and a throbbing head. Her vision blurred slightly as she tried to focus, making the pain and dizziness worse. She was alone in the confines of her cage, though it didn’t feel like an act of kindness, the cage was just too small to hold a second person. 

It was the first time since she’d sent the Unsullied away that she hadn’t been bound to anything. She took a moment to take stock of her injuries. The pain was insistent but there was nothing so severe it wouldn’t heal on its own. 

Her cage like all the others was meant for an animal. The iron bars were rusted but strong. It was long enough for her to lie with only a slight bend in her legs. The roof however was so low sitting would be awkward and kneeling or standing impossible. She looked at what was within reach, there wasn’t much. A small cracked clay container to use as a chamber pot, a battered bowl she assumed would be for food and a small mound of hay to be a bed, or a blanket. In the hay she found a small drinking glass, the kind a child might use. 

Slowly the spots in her vision disappeared and she found it easier to think. She remembered where she was and why. Doing what she could to sit she craned her neck and tried to get a look at the interior of the barn. 

There were even more cages than she expected. Most were full but not all. She noticed the ones on her immediate right were all empty. She counted quickly, pressing her cheek against the bars to make sure she was accurate. Nine. Nine empty cages and she was in the tenth. It wasn’t hard to comprehend. Had the patrol arrived without her interference, all ten of the cages would be filled instead of only hers. 

“Who are you?” a male voice asked from left. 

She opened her mouth to speak but found it too dry. Loudly and crassly she cleared her throat and spit through the bars onto the dirt floor. “Arya Stark,” she said when she was able, matching his volume. 

“Who?” the same man asked. To Arya he sounded young and scared. 

“Arya Stark of Winterfell,” she said again, louder. When there wasn’t recognition, she tried a different route. “Sansa’s sister.”

“My arse,” the man protested. “The Queen don’t have a sister, only brothers.” 

She rolled her eyes. She risked her neck to save this asshole? “Mind your tongue,” a different, older voice said. “Don’t mind the lad, m’lady, he’s young, too young to have known your father.” 

“And you did?” she said, leaning into the bars again to try and see the man she was speaking to. 

“I finished my training before King Robert came. It was your father I gave my vow to.” 

She was gifted at sensing when she was being lied to. She believed this man. “Who are you?”

“Captain Ozwick, m’lady,” he said. She didn’t recognize the name, but as a child her father did his best to keep the soldiers separate from his daughters. “I led the third patrol to be taken. Fifteen men your sister sent in search of the others who had gone missing.”

“Are you all here?” 

“Raven patrol!” he called, no longer taking care to remain quiet. “Let the Lady Stark hear you! Number one…”

Another voice followed after Ozwick’s. “Number two…”

“Number three…”

She listened intently to each man in turn. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the last man say, “Number fifteen.”

“Is everyone alright?!” Arya yelled, not caring who answered. 

“Some injuries m’lady but all the patrols are accounted for,” Ozwick assured her. “A healer was brought in to tend to the wounded.” 

There was a lot about this that didn’t make sense. Why kidnap Stark troops only? Why keep them in a decrepit barn instead of selling them to slavers or ransoming them back to their families? Why cage them only to spend gold and effort to ensure they stayed healthy?

Before she could ask Ozwick any of her questions, the thug who knocked her out, came storming in. “For fuck sakes!” he complained. “Can’t you fucking pricks shut your mouths?”

The sudden silence in the presence of this man was damn near audible. Arya could tell she wasn’t the only one to experience the brunt of his anger. “Hey!” Arya yelled. “I told you I want to talk to the man in charge!”

He turned red, as if her request offended him somehow. “You’ll talk when we tell you to talk and not before. The next person who can’t follow orders is going to be missin’ teeth.” 

Every part of her wanted to challenge him, defeat him and free the captives but she couldn’t. Not yet. She’d come to learn who caused all this, and that person had yet to reveal himself. 

“That’s better. Keep quiet or you’ll all go hungry tonight,” he threatened. “You,” he said glaring at Arya, “I’ll be back for you later.”

She smirked at him from her side of the bars. She remained silent until he was gone but then said, “I’m looking forward to it.” 

R-C

She squinted to try and get a better view. The wind blew against her face and she couldn’t see much, but Daenerys refused to admit defeat. Arya was down there somewhere, and she was going to find her. 

Drogon had arrived within hours of Dany learning Arya was missing, somehow sensing she needed him. She was in the sky, while the other searchers were still preparing. She might have enjoyed the bright colors and the warmth of the sunrise under different circumstances. She barely noticed as her eyes swept the untamed lands below for any sign of Arya or the sell-swords holding her. 

Several people had tried to dissuade Dany from searching. They wanted her to remain in Winterfell with Sansa, where it was safe. She was sure they had their reasons although Daenerys never let them get that far. She didn’t care what anyone thought, she needed to do everything in her power to bring Arya back. That included participating in the hunt. No one else was as motivated as she was to secure Arya’s safe return. 

The ground was littered with Unsullied and Stark soldiers working together, looking for any sign of the captives or their abductors. She could have joined them easily enough, but Daenerys preferred the privacy and the view from atop Drogon. 

She stayed in the air even after she knew the searchers beneath her had retired. The sun had set and with every minute that passed the cold seeped into her bones. She was dressed in her warmest clothes, but they felt inadequate in the darkening sky. Her stomach growled to remind her of its needs and her balance was beginning to falter. More than once she nearly fell when Drogon made a sudden, unexpected turn. She knew she needed to set her feet back on solid ground soon. How could she do that? How could she spend another long, lonely night in Winterfell while Arya was out there in the hands of men who could be doing any number of vile things to her? With no acceptable answer she blinked hard tightened her hold on Drogon’s scales and took him around for another pass. 

R-C

Arya had been trying to get some sleep. She’d need her strength and energy for when the unknown partner presented himself, so she stole a few minutes of rest whenever she could. 

Overnight she heard the stories of how the patrols were captured. Each was different. The patrol she saved would have been pounced on by would-be merchants. Another was offered a warm drink on a cold Northern night and woke up in chains. A third saw one man nearly kill another. They gave chase and ended up surrounded by the whole of Ben’s force. It was perplexing. With nearly fifty men why not send ransom letters and earn gold? She believed Ben when he told her he was in this for the money, so what was he waiting for? If the coin wasn’t from ransom or slavery, then how? Who cared enough to pay for dozens of Stark soldiers?

Nights spent inside the House of Black and White taught her the value of sleeping lightly. It wasn’t uncommon for the Waif to appear when Arya was dreaming to strike. Arya would lock the door, she’d break in, Arya’d sleep in a different bed, she’d find her. The more she made the cunt work for it, the more vicious the beating she received. As a result, she could sleep sitting up with a rock for a pillow if she had to, and she’d wake every time she heard an approaching footstep, an unfamiliar voice, or the creaking of a door. It made it a challenge to get a good night’s sleep in the Kingswood, where there were always animals about, but it was useful now. 

Food and water were offered only once a day. One of the sell-swords would come with a bucket and a ladle. He’d start at one end of the room and work his way around. If a prisoner didn’t set out his bowl to be filled, he’d starve. The process would repeat when a different sell-sword would bring water to fill their cups. As days passed Arya began to wonder if starvation wasn’t the least painful option. The food, if she could call it that, was always the same, a grey sludge somewhere between a soup and a stew. It tasted horrible, reminding her of eating bowls of brown in Flea Bottom. It was not uncommon for Arya to spend the hours after eating listening to her fellow captives vomiting or gagging. 

Each time someone passed her cage she voiced her request to see the man in charge and each time she was either ignored or taunted. 

She did what she could to keep time. She hadn’t thought it would take this long to meet the mysterious kidnapper and escape. Her plan had made so much sense, now she was beginning to doubt her decisions. Regardless, it was too late to change anything. She’d saved a patrol. Ten men, fathers, husbands, brothers and sons returned to their homes and their families because Arya was willing to sacrifice herself. She tried to focus on that. 

R-C

She knew when she left King’s Landing on her quest to help Sansa she’d be without Arya for weeks if not months. She was prepared for that then, when she thought Arya was safe somewhere. This was something else entirely. She hadn’t been getting much sleep and when she did, she was haunted by nightmares about whatever horrible things were happening to Arya. 

She hated to admit it, but she hadn’t had any luck searching. She spent hours each day in the air with Drogon and she’d yet to spot anything significant. It was as if the bandits and their prize vanished without a trace. The longer it stretched on, the harder it was for Daenerys to pretend she was alright. 

The land searches had been no more fruitful. At her command and against the wishes of nearly everyone she knew, she ordered the Unsullied to search day after day. Every man she sent out reported the same thing – no sign of Arya. She’d been in the North before, but never truly appreciated just how big it was. To make matters worse, when the Dead marched through, they erased villages and towns, scattering survivors. This made Winterfell’s maps and records woefully out of date. 

Daenerys tried to remain positive. Arya was strong, both physically and emotionally. She wasn’t taken against her will, she’d surrender, which meant she had a plan, right? Daenerys needed to believe in her. There was a lot she had to say to Arya, and she couldn’t do that until she came back. 

How had she let it come to this? She hadn’t wanted Arya to go out looking for bandits, even when she was angry with her. Perhaps if she’d made her argument as a concerned lover and not the demanding Queen, Daenerys wouldn’t have to wonder if she’d ever see Arya again. 

She didn’t know where Arya was. She didn’t know who had her. All she knew was that no more patrols had been taken since she gave herself up. Was that because Arya struck a deal with her enemy or because their information dried up when Arya exposed the traitor? The traitor. She didn’t know where Arya was, but maybe he did. Daenerys knew none of the interrogators had gotten Doyle to talk yet, but Dany hadn’t tried. She could be very persuasive. 

Jorah met her on her way to the dungeon and tried to come along. Tyrion too was lingering a few steps back. She turned on her heel with fire in her eyes. “Go away!” she commanded. 

“I…” Jorah began to stammer, unprepared for her outburst. 

She didn’t care about his feelings. She needed the truth. She needed Arya. She was willing to do whatever it took to get her back. She didn’t think Jorah or Tyrion held the same conviction and therefore they were a liability where she was going. 

She took a step and then another, waiting to be interrupted. It would have been a mistake to interfere. She’d send them both back to King’s Landing if necessary. 

Doyle was an unimpressive man. He was a few years older than Daenerys, with darker hair than Arya’s and a neatly maintained beard. He was shorter than Jorah and carried a few less pounds. Wearing only blood-stained pants and the iron chains that bound him to the wall, he was pitiful. His face had several cuts, one along his brow, another on his upper lip. His right eye was swollen and bruised, not enough to be useless but she doubted his vision was perfect. His ribs were the most extensively damaged. There was more purple, green and faded brown than white. She couldn’t muster up any sympathy for him. He’d gotten off easy as far as Daenerys was concerned. 

He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, a thick chain connected to his neck. “Do you know who I am?” she asked, thinking it best to start at the beginning. 

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. Of course, he knew her. She moved on. Her instinct to beat the truth from him was tempered by Tyrion’s words from days before. He said Doyle would be a valuable resource for them and it was taking all her restraint to remember that. This man was part of the group that was holding Arya. In Daenerys’s mind this made him responsible for everything Arya was enduring. “You made an error and now people I care about, someone I love is in danger,” she said, speaking slowly to try and keep from losing her composure. 

He didn’t say anything. “You made a mistake but it’s not too late. Tell me what you know, and I’ll give you a royal pardon and personally hand you the key to that lock,” she said gesturing to the band around his neck. 

It was a lie, but she felt no guilt for telling it. This man wouldn’t escape punishment for what he’d done. Arya was too important to her to give him mercy. She thought her lie was believable. She didn’t lay it on too thick, she didn’t hide her anger or contempt, she just tried to strike a deal.

Finally, he spoke, sounding like he needed water. His voice was hoarse. “D...do you think I’m stupid?”

She didn’t answer. The truth would be counterproductive, and he already saw through her attempt to hide the truth. “Help me and I’ll help you.”

Once again, he was silent. She moved forward. “Don’t help me,” Daenerys began, “and things will get worse for you.” 

“I’m dead,” he declared. There was no fear or false bravado, just resignation in his admission. This man had already come to terms with his death and that would make him difficult to negotiate with. “Whatever promises you make, you’ll break once I talk. I know that. So why don’t you go fuck yourself?” 

Normally such comments would incite her fury but this time it didn’t reach its mark. This wasn’t about her, her feelings or her pride, this was about Arya. Nothing was more important. Since Doyle wasn’t in the mood to bargain, and because time was running short, she jumped ahead to the threats. “My dragons are here,” she told him. He flinched slightly at the mention of her children, the first sign of real emotion since they started speaking. She might not have noticed had it not been for the way the chain he was attached to rattled slightly when he tensed. She smirked in a devious way Arya could be proud of. “Have you ever seen what’s left after they eat?” She let him ponder the question briefly before she answered for him. “I’ll give you a hint, not much.” 

He swallowed hard and Doyle’s throat bobbed. The time for lies was over. “You’re right,” Dany said, “you’re never going to survive this, but if you help me, I will see it’s done quickly and painlessly. I’ll arrange a meeting between you and your family before the end. I can even ensure your wife gets some gold to help support the people you care about after you’re gone.” She didn’t know if he had a wife, or a family but it was worth a try. 

She expected her offer to make more of an impact. The man was going to die, did he not want to see his loved ones one more time before that? He remained unmoved. “I’m not the sort of person you want as your enemy,” she informed him.

“Too late for that,” he muttered to himself. Daenerys didn’t correct him. He was right. She thought that was all she’d get from him, but Doyle had more fight in him than she realized. “I hear dragonfire burns so hot you can’t feel it. Not the worst way to meet the Gods, if you ask me.” 

He was calling her bluff and she couldn’t do anything about it. He knew he still had value, that she wouldn’t kill him yet, so he was defiant. Daenerys was stuck. What could she do? What would Arya want her to do? She hadn’t reached a conclusion when a third person joined them. “You’re right,” Sansa said, walking up to stand at Daenerys’s side. “Dragonfire does burn so hot and so fast you’d never feel a thing, but dragons aren’t the only thing you need to worry about.” 

Daenerys didn’t know what she was talking about, but let it continue. Sansa look a slow, lazy look around the dungeon. “I killed Ramsay Snow in this room,” she remarked almost casually. “I became a killer right here,” she admitted, reaching out and tracing a bar with her dainty finger. “I had him tied to a chair and then released his starving war hounds. I stood here and watched as they devoured him. I’d never heard anything like it, the snarling, the mashing teeth, Ramsay’s pathetic screams.”

Daenerys was speechless. If Sansa was lying, she was doing a very good job of it. Unlike Daenerys Doyle wasn’t surprised by the confession. She guessed he heard it before, leading Daenerys to believe it wasn’t a lie or even an exaggeration to scare her prisoner. Sansa was telling the truth. 

“I still think about that day often,” she went on. “It never fails to make me smile.” She showed Doyle her beautiful white teeth. It was a strange contradiction, the proper Lady Stark so murderous. Daenerys was unable to look away. “I killed him for things that couldn’t be undone, for people who couldn’t be saved. Do you understand?” she asked. Doyle looked at the woman he betrayed and stayed silent. “I became a murderer when it wouldn’t accomplish anything. Rickon was still dead, and I still felt Ramsay’s hands on my skin every time I closed my eyes. I knew when I released the dogs it wouldn’t solve anything, but I did it anyway.” She got to the point then and Daenerys felt her appreciation for Sansa growing with every word. “My sister is still alive, so ask yourself, if I was willing to feed Ramsay to his hounds for a brother I couldn’t save, what would I do to you to rescue the sister I can?”

It didn’t take long for the captive to reach a decision. “It wasn’t personal,” he admitted in a low voice. He was looking at Sansa only. “It was just about the gold. They offered me more gold than I’d ever seen.” 

“Who did?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, hanging his head. His tone made clear that he knew how those words would be received and wasn’t pleased to have to say them. “I truly don’t. A courier found me one day, offered me a pouch of gold and a proposition. Someone wanted information about Stark patrols. Another courier came the next week, and every week since, always with more gold, even when I didn’t have anything to trade.” 

“Who is this courier?” Sansa asked for both women. 

“It was a different man each time, different but the same.” 

“How do you mean?”

“All sell-swords,” Doyle explained. “Never the same man, but always a sell-sword.” Daenerys couldn’t help wondering if he thought repeating the information twice would make it more appealing to his inquisitors? 

“Were the sell-swords the ones paying you?” Daenerys asked. 

He shook his head and his body followed, causing the chain to rattle. “No, they were hired for the job like me,” Doyle said. “I got the routes, they took the men, but it wasn’t our idea.”

“Whose was it?”

“I don’t know,” he told his Queen. “I never met him, and the sell-swords I met didn’t know either, I asked. They just got a letter and gold, like I did.”

“Do you know where Arya and the men are now?”

“No,” she admitted weakly. “They never told me where they take’em.” 

Sansa looked at Daenerys and they communicated without words. She was asking if Daenerys believed him. She nodded that she did. “Heard enough?” Sansa asked. Again, she nodded. 

With that Sansa turned away from Doyle and made the climb up the staircase. Daenerys remained behind to gather herself. Daenerys marvelled at what she was a witness to. She’d been there, trying to find a way to secure Doyle’s help and Sansa walked up and did it as naturally as she breathed. It was remarkable. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that if Sansa hadn’t arrived, she wouldn’t have gotten the information. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry this one isn’t overly exciting. I did have fun writing Sansa though. I think she’s a lot more devious than most people give her credit for, I also think she’s plagued with guilt for how she behaved early on. I hope I did an okay job of showing that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> RC


	13. Chapter 13

Awake she tried to live in the moment, from one second to the next, and then the next. Asleep was a different matter all together. As she dreamt, she was often visited by the ghosts of her past; her family, those she killed, others she couldn’t kill. 

She was dreaming of Harrenhall when an unknown voice worked its way into her memories. Years after leaving, she could still recite in gruesome detail all the horrible deeds that happened during her stay there. The faces hadn’t left her, the innocent and the guilty alike. She remembered everyone, victims and rapers, murderers and corpses. This new voice, it didn’t belong and that was enough to wake her. 

“Who is she?” the voice was asking. He was unhappy. 

She lifted herself up as best she could, in the direction of the voice to hear better. Luckily for her, they were speaking loudly and with the barn door partially open. “She claims she’s a Stark,” Ben said. 

“It’s not the redhead you told us about, Sansee, it’s not her.” That voice belonged to the man who’d greeted them near the barn when she arrived. He reprimanded Ben for making him wait, which meant he was more important than Ben and his sell-swords in the hierarchy. 

“Sansa!” the first man corrected. “For fuck sakes, her name is Sansa and she’s the fucking Queen in the North. No, it wouldn’t be her, the Gods don’t like me that much.” 

“No one laid a hand on her, just like you asked,” Ben said, trying to placate the one she didn’t know. She’d thought Ben smart when they met, now she was beginning to doubt her judgement. The lie would be revealed when this man got a look at her. She’d been knocked unconscious several times since she surrendered, and her bruises were hard to hide without clothes. 

“There is no useless information,” Jaqen used to tell her. “Perhaps it is of no use today, but a girl should hold onto it for tomorrow.” 

The fact that he once sent the Waif to kill her aside, she couldn’t discount the value of his teachings. Hearing Ben lie to try and please the mystery man may not have told Arya who was after Sansa or why, but it did tell her Ben feared this man, whoever he was. She could use that. 

None of the people she’d interacted with seemed angry enough at her family to concoct this plot, until now. The unknown voice was furious when he spoke of Sansa. As Arya knew better than anyone, you don’t pray to the Gods to bring you someone unless your hate ran deep. Like her earlier observation, it wasn’t useful in the moment, but maybe she could twist it to her benefit later. 

“What makes you think she’s a Stark?”

“She said she was,” Ben said. Correctly realizing the weakness of his argument, he hurried to try another. “She has the look.”

“Let’s go see if you’re right, shall we gents?”

While they were opening the door the rest of the way Arya was doing what she could to ready her sleeping muscles in the event of a fight. She was already facing the front of the cage, so now all she had to do was wait. She was a Wolf and her prey was coming to her. 

She looked at the man for several long seconds. She tried to memorize as much about him as she could. He was younger than she expected. He had dark hair, a clean face and a thin scar on the back of his right hand, from a sword. He wore no armor, no markings, just a fur-lined cloak over a shirt and pants. He was armed with a wide sword hanging from his belt. The blade was hidden but she could see the golden grip, decorated by several gems. An expensive tool for a bandit. She noted also that the right leg of his pants didn’t hang naturally, giving it an unusual shape. Arya understood immediately, she’d seen this before. In addition to his sword, this man also had another weapon, likely a dagger strapped to his leg. 

“My friends tell me you’re Arya Stark,” he said casually, as though he wasn’t keeping her captive. “Looking at you now I wonder how a Stark, any Stark could get so many scars.” 

When he spoke, she saw his teeth. They were well maintained and white. They weren’t stained or chipped which had to mean he was a man of some import. This fit in line with his flawless use of the common tongue. He was wealthy enough to be educated and well cared for, but not so rich that he didn’t need to work. His hands belonged to someone who engaged in manual labor. She guessed many hours spent practicing with that fancy sword would cause the callouses she saw. 

“I fell down the stairs,” she retorted, “lots of stairs.” 

He considered his next move for a time. “You really are a Stark then? Would that be the Starks of Winterfell?”

“Do you know of any other Starks?” 

Instead of getting angry like the sell-swords were prone to do, he chuckled humorlessly. “No, I suppose not.” He took another step toward her cage. He was getting a better look. Sunlight came through the open barn door and made it easy for them to see one another. “I was certain you couldn’t be a Stark. I know all the Starks, the living ones at least.”

More of Jaqen’s lessons echoed in her ears. “If a girl wishes to hold her secrets, learn to lie or a girl should cut out her tongue.” She thought then he was encouraging her to master lying and he was, but there was a second point he was trying to make-- the more you talk, the more you reveal. If Jaqen was right, and he usually was, she’d learn more about what was going on, if she could keep him talking. Against other men she would force a confrontation, question their manhood, get them angry and then listen to what spilled out. With someone like this she had to be more delicate. He’d be much more likely to talk if she kept things civil, polite even. 

“That was your mistake,” Arya said with a smirk. “I was dead.” 

“Fucking cunt,” the man with Ben roared. “Stop jerking us ‘round. You ain’t dead, you’re here.” 

This was the same man that didn’t know Sansa’s name and apparently his employer was tired of him. “Leave!” he ordered. 

With a grumbled curse he turned to go. Arya didn’t wait for him to be out of earshot before she said, “Not the smartest lad, is he?” 

“What can you expect from sell-swords?” he asked dismissively. “They are tools, necessary but blunt.” 

Ben blushed upon hearing his boss’s opinion of his kind. Wisely he said nothing. Arya’s smirk only grew. “Good help is hard to find.” 

“You have no idea,” he gushed, commiserating with his prisoner. None of the others in the barn had even coughed or cleared their throat since the conversation began. “I thought for sure sell-swords would be easy to find. We’re in peace time now,” he informed her. “Plenty of talented men in need of work.”

“And you had work that needed doing?” Arya verified. 

He chuckled darkly, as if he’d figured out her game. “My turn to ask the questions. Why did you surrender?”

“To meet you,” she stated plainly. 

“Now that you have, is it worth your life?”

“I still don’t know your name,” Arya pointed out. “It’s really rather rude of you. Obviously, manners didn’t come with that education.” 

“You think I’m dumb enough to tell you my name?” he asked. It was subtle, but she detected a slight ripple in his smooth, even delivery. She’d unsettled him by mentioning his education. 

Arya shrugged awkwardly in her small cage. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t. If you mean to kill me, what’s the harm in telling me who it is that’s ending my life?” 

For an instant she thought he would rise to the bait and take a bite, but he caught himself. “Nice try. You remind me of Jon actually. You look like him for one, it’s how I know you are who you say you are.”

Every word was better than gold for Arya. This man knew Jon and was mad at Sansa. She just needed to push a little more. “What’s the second thing?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said, ‘for one,’ that means there is a second thing about me that reminds you of Jon.”

“He was smart like you too,” the man said with a hint of appreciation in his tone. “He could talk in circles and make you do what he wanted. He nearly convinced Ramsay to face him in single combat.” 

And there it was. The reason for all this. Ramsay Snow, the Bolton bastard who abused Sansa and killed Rickon. She swallowed down her hate and thought through the meaning of all this. She hadn’t been in Westeros then, but she heard Jon did defeat Ramsay in single combat after knights from the Vale arranged by Sansa turned the tide on the battlefield. 

“I thought Jon did convince Ramsay to fight him in single combat?” Arya asked, eager for any detail that might leak out. 

“After,” he corrected, “that was after the battle. Your brother challenged him before, but Ramsay was too smart to fall for it.” 

More information. This confirmed that this man not only fought at the Battle of the Bastards but was close enough to Ramsay to overhear Jon’s challenge. There couldn’t have been but a handful of men there and it was unlikely many survived. She still didn’t know his name, but she had enough. 

She tried to knock him off balance again with the things she’d learned. “You were at the Battle of the Bastards,” she said confidently. “You fought for Ramsay and were close enough to him to know Sansa and Jon. Ramsay is dead. He got exactly what he deserved, so why the fuck are you doing this for him?”

His face burned red at the mention of Arya’s sister. He really was pissed, even after so long. “If the cockless Iron Islander hadn’t helped her escape, Ramsay would be King in the North and I’d have a title and lands of my own! I was promised Dreadfort.” 

His admissions cleared up a lot, but not everything. “Get on with it then!” she urged. “Kill me, kill all of us, it isn’t going to make Ramsay-fucking-Snow a King and it sure as shit won’t get you Dreadfort.”

For the first time since they started talking, she saw rage. It was visible when she was commenting on all the things he wouldn’t have. He was angry, the easy, almost friendly conversation was over. She thought he would kick the cage, but he restrained himself. “There is more than one way to get a title,” he said with fire in his brown eyes. “I’ll get what I’m owed and you Starks will learn your place at the same time.” 

He turned, Ben with him but Arya wasn’t done. It was very possible this would be her one and only chance to talk to this man. So, she tried to provoke him. “Just who do you think is going to give you a title?” Only two people wielded such power and as it happened Arya knew them both fairly well. “Sansa would never give you lands or a title, you’ll be lucky if you can avoid the headman’s axe.”

Mentioning her sister was enough to get him facing her again. “I wouldn’t take a thing from Sansa if she spread her legs for me first. Ramsay said she wasn’t very good, but that didn’t stop him from getting some use out of her.”

Lashing out she grabbed the bars of her cage and shook, rattling them as she tried to get out. She was unarmed and weak, but she could kill both he and Ben with her bare hands. 

He laughed at the reaction. “Temper, temper, temper. Sansa had a temper, until Ramsay rid her of it.” 

“The Dragon Queen is Sansa’s ally, she sent thousands of men here to find you. She won’t give you a title either. I’m not worth that much, none of us are. Your plan won’t work.” 

He was going to the door again but the last thing she heard was him issuing orders to Ben. “Count up the men, and make note of their ranks, then send the courier at once.” 

“And the girl?” 

“She hasn’t outlived her usefulness yet. Once the letter is done send word to our friend and tell him it’s time.” 

The barn door closed, and Arya slumped down into the hay. She’d met with the man behind all this and had answers to almost all of her questions. Now it was time to prepare for her escape. 

R-C

She could tell she wasn’t going to like what he had to say when Tyrion came in. Given how everybody was waiting for even the slightest bit of good news, he would have entered with a wide grin if he had any, waving the proof proudly. His posture was rigid, and he gave Daenerys the same sad smile she received when he opposed her plan to send the Unsullied out to search. 

Under normal circumstances she would have let Sansa ask but that would have taken an extra second or two and Daenerys’s patience had evaporated days ago. “What have you heard?”

“A courier arrived. He never got closer to the gate than one hundred feet. He dropped a bag off his shoulder and turned and sped off, ignoring the gate guard’s calls for him to stop.”

“What was in the bag?” Sansa asked. 

“A letter from our kidnapper.” He looked to Sansa and gave her a weak smile. “The writer claims he has forty-one uninjured Stark men, and seven more with nonlife-threatening wounds.”

“They’re all alive, really?” Sansa verified in disbelief. “Even Arya?”

“If this letter is to be believed, yes.”

“Do you think it’s fake?” Daenerys inquired. 

He shook his head slowly. “It has names, dates they were taken, ranks of the troops and even in some cases the name of a man’s wife or child. It’s authentic.” 

Very well then, they had their confirmation, Arya and the others were alive. Now they just needed to arrange their release. “How much do they want?” It had to be about gold, it always was. 

“It’s more than we have, isn’t it?” Sansa predicted, while Tyrion struggled to find the proper words to respond. 

Maybe if she wasn’t sleep-deprived, terrified and aching for revenge she might have understood sooner. The kidnappers making contact was good news, the best they’d had in days, so why had Tyrion come in like he was going to ruin the Queen’s day?

“They want nearly a million gold dragons.”

“That’s madness!” Daenerys erupted, jumping to her feet and yelling. “No one has that much, not even me.”

“According to the letter the kidnapper calculated the value of each prisoner. Less for the injured and the young, more for the experienced men of higher rank.”

“And Arya?”

“The total is nearly a million. I may not be the Master of Coin anymore, but I know we don’t that much.”

“Even if we could raise it, there’s no guarantee they wouldn’t just take the money and kill everyone,” Jorah added. 

She ignored Jorah in favor of Tyrion. “I asked you a question!” She looked suggestively to the pin he wore, a reminder of his obligation to her as Hand. “What price did they set for Arya?”

“Three hundred thousand gold dragons,” Tyrion admitted in a low voice. Daenerys could understand why he wouldn’t want her to know that, but it got worse. “According to the letter, the fee for a Stark is two-hundred thousand. They’re charging more to compensate them for having to put up with her.”

It was disgusting that someone had put a value on Arya of all people. She was priceless in Dany’s opinion, even with her secrets. It turned her stomach and made her want to cry but Arya didn’t need Dany, she needed Daenerys the Queen. She was the one with power and access to the royal treasury. 

While Daenerys had been managing her fury and getting the truth from her advisor, Sansa had been thinking. “The Northern treasury doesn’t have much right now, we’re still rebuilding but Winterfell is full of expensive items. I’ll get my people started right away on trying to estimate the value of everything.”

“Sansa this is your family home. You can’t sell it,” Tyrion said softly. 

“I’ll keep the house,” she assured him, “I’ll just sell the meaningless shit inside. There is art on the walls, mother’s jewelry…”

She was a little ashamed she didn’t think of that. The Red Keep too was filled with golden trinkets of the finest quality. They would fetch a good price. “Send a raven to Varys at once. I want to know exactly what’s in the treasury and an estimated value of the goods in the keep.”

“I will, and I’ll send word West to sell off what remains of the Lannister holdings. There isn’t much left, but what there is, is mine and you can have it.” 

Tyrion always made a point to say just how cynical he was, how bitter and hardened. He played the part well most of the time, but then occasionally he revealed the truth underneath. He did care, and he wasn’t as unfeeling as he pretended to be. When she met Sansa’s eye, she could tell she was as honored by his offer as Dany was. “Thank you, Tyrion,” Daenerys said. “I’ll see you paid back every coin, double if you wish.” 

“Me too,” Sansa interjected. “You don’t need to do this for me.”

He was working hard to appear emotionless, but Sansa’s words tore down his barriers. “I don’t want my father’s money, I never have. If I could use it helping one of the many families he wronged so terribly, then I will.” He paused and clarified a little further. “If I could use it to help you, I will,” he said to Sansa. 

Sansa hurried to the dwarf and hugged him fiercely. Whispered words were exchanged on both sides. Daenerys was always told their marriage was one without emotion, arranged by his father. Witnessing what she was now, she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to it than Tyrion led her to believe. 

“Building the orphanage cost us a lot,” Jorah said. “And the Iron Bank doesn’t care who has been kidnapped, they’ll expect their payment on time.” 

“What about them?” Daenerys inquired. Tyrion was no longer in Sansa’s arms, but they remained side by side, his cheeks as red as her hair. “Can I get a loan?”

“Khaleesi,” Jorah cautioned, “a loan of that size would take most of your life to pay off, perhaps your whole life.” 

“Is it possible?” she asked Tyrion. 

“If they have a representative in Westeros, maybe, but if they have to come from Braavos, it could be months,” 

“Arya doesn’t have months!” Dany shouted. She pressed her thumb into the diamond of her pendant so hard it almost broke the skin. 

“We’ll do everything we can, your Grace?” Missandei said to comfort her. 

“I’ll send the letters right away,” Tyrion said. 

Their plan didn’t feel like enough to her, but it was all they had. Sansa’s face mirrored hers, with its fear and barely controlled tears. “We’re going to bring her back to us,” she promised. 

R-C

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept for more than a few minutes or ate more than a handful of bites. How could she do such things with Arya lost?

Since receiving the ransom letter, Daenerys’s main obsession was finding the gold to secure Arya’s release. Sansa was working tirelessly too. She looked even worse than Daenerys felt, and the Dragon could understand why. She’d heard Sansa’s confession about how she’d taken her family for granted, she just got Arya back and now she was gone again. Tyrion and Varys had their people seeking a representative of the Iron Bank from both directions, Tyrion in the North with her, and Varys from King’s Landing, neither was successful yet. 

She rejoined the conversation with Tyrion, Jorah and Grey Worm discussing what Sansa had been able to get out of Doyle, again. “… find the sell-swords and maybe…” Jorah was saying. 

“It still doesn’t help us!” Daenerys shouted, releasing her frustrations on all those around her. “Doyle told us everything he knew and we’re no closer to finding Arya.” 

From the faces nearby Daenerys could tell they agreed with her bleak assessment. “Some of the Unsullied have already begun searching for the couriers the prisoner spoke of,” Jorah said, trying to cheer Daenerys with their limited supply of positive facts. Next to him Grey Worm nodded in confirmation. 

“If they’re the same mercenaries attacking the patrols,” Tyrion predicted, “we won’t find them.” 

“We have to do something!” Daenerys said loudly. “Why don’t we summon the rest of our allies here? With all the armies of the Seven Kingdoms together we could search and find them.” 

“That would take months to arrange,” Tyrion said, informing her of what she already knew. They both also knew that the kidnappers wouldn’t wait months for their gold. 

“Where are we at with the gold?” Sansa asked more calmly than Daenerys could dream to be. 

“It’s a work in progress,” Tyrion said. “Few people could afford to purchase the kinds of things we’re selling, fewer still want them, it’s going to take time.” 

Patience? The Gods were cruel indeed. Since she met Arya at the tavern, the Northern woman had been insisting Dany needed to learn patience. Now that she was gone, she was being tested to see if she listened to Arya or not. Was she any more patient now than the first night she snuck out of the Red Keep? 

She fully planned to tell all of them just how little time they had. Arya had been with the kidnappers for days already. She was strong but everyone had a breaking point. Daenerys feared what would happen if Arya reached hers before they could save her. As she looked around the room, she knew they’d all pay a price if Arya couldn’t be rescued in time. Sansa would lose a sister, Daenerys a lover, and everyone else their Queen because whether they realized it or not, Daenerys couldn’t survive losing Arya this way. 

Podrick came in and gave Tyrion a brief smile before he ducked his head to Sansa. “Apologies m’lady but there is a visitor at the gate,”

He wasn’t speaking to her, but Daenerys couldn’t find her manners or her restraint. “Are they carrying bags of gold?” she asked sarcastically. 

Not surprisingly Sansa was more diplomatic. “Who is it Podrick?”

“Wouldn’t say,” he replied, “just asked to speak to the Queen, said it was urgent.” 

Sansa stood from her seat and Brienne stepped forward from where she’d been standing, clearly intent on going along. “I’ll go see who it is.” 

“That’s the thing m’lady,” Podrick said, uncomfortably. “He wishes to speak to the Targaryen Queen.” 

R-C

They were a party of five. Two guards, one young man and one woman who were clearly servants, with their Master. She gave little thought to who’d come calling as she and Sansa led their advisors outside. She didn’t care who it was, if they could help, she’d welcome them with open arms. If she had eternity to guess she never would have gotten it right. He was older, his face more wrinkled, his belly bigger, and his hair greyer with spots of white but he was still a man she’d recognize anywhere. She’d lived with him after all. Those months in Pentos felt like a lifetime ago, if not two. 

She heard Jorah say something but didn’t spare him a glance. He quickly moved to position himself between Daenerys and the potential danger.

“Is that…” Tyrion’s voice trailed off from her left. 

“Illyrio Mopatis,” Daenerys said. 

She gave no thought to how her advisors knew him. That didn’t matter now. When he saw her, he smiled, looking genuine in his happiness. After a moment the Magister took a knee in the dirt. All of those with him did the same. “Your Grace, you look even more radiant than I remember.” 

Daenerys waited until they were standing, before providing introductions. “Lady Stark allow me to introduce Magister Illyrio Mopatis from Pentos. When I was young my brother and I lived on his estate before he helped sell me to the Dothraki.” 

Illyrio chuckled, unbothered. “You’ve learned to unleash the strength inside,” he noted, “good. I’m pleased to see you no longer keep it bottled up.”

Daenerys felt uncomfortable in Illyrio’s presence. He’d never been anything but kind to her, generous even, still she knew better than to trust him. Her lips parted to rebuke his claim that he understood her, but Tyrion interceded. She had to duck her head so her Hand could whisper to her. “How does he know you’re here?” he wondered. 

That was a fair question. Her trip to Winterfell hadn’t been widely known yet Illyrio knew where to find her. “How did you come to be here?” she asked. “Problems in Pentos?”

He laughed again. He was the picture of ease and that made her nervous. “Pentos is fine. You’re welcome to visit anytime you like.” 

“You didn’t come across the sea to invite her to your home,” Jorah said in Daenerys’s defense. “So why have you come?” 

Illyrio finally took his eyes off Daenerys. “Jorah Mormont, I assure you my motives are purer than yours were when you spied for Robert Baratheon.” 

Jorah’s face contorted in hurt and shame at the mention of his betrayal. She hadn’t forgotten it, and she never would, but Jorah had redeemed himself. “That was long ago,” Jorah said. “Things have changed.”

“They certainly have,” the Magister agreed. “Daenerys Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne. She is the Mother of Dragons, the Breaker of Chains and the woman who united the Realm.” There was something strange about the way Illyrio was speaking, as if they’d seen one another last week instead of years before, as if there was nothing unusual about him travelling thousands of miles to find her without warning. “Hello again Tyrion, it’s been a long time. I’m happy to see you here, with Daenerys.” 

The Hand of the Queen was formal in his response. “Illyrio,” he said with a nod. 

“You look much better than the last time I saw you,” he observed. 

“It would be hard to look worse,” Tyrion retorted. “What are you doing here?” He picked up right where Jorah left off and the Magister still didn’t answer. 

He was looking at Daenerys again. “I’m proud of you.” 

“He asked you a question.” 

“I came to help,” Illyrio said. 

“With what?” Jorah asked. 

“I don’t have time for this,” Daenerys decided, interrupting whatever game Illyrio was trying to play. “It was nice to see you again Magister, I’m pleased you’re well,” she said without feeling, “now if you’ll excuse us, we have business to attend to.” 

He’d been dismissed but he didn’t move an inch. “Yes, you must find Lady Stark’s sister and her missing men.”

There were audible gasps when he showed them the extent of his knowledge. Jorah took a long stride to Illyrio. “How do you know about that?”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Illyrio said with a smile that had her skin crawling. “Tyrion there has been sending ravens all over Westeros for information.” 

“You weren’t in Westeros,” Tyrion noted. 

“No, but I still hear things.”

Daenerys didn’t care how he’d come to know, she only wanted to hear what he’d learned. “Tell me.” 

From several feet away, his eyes shined, and he grinned. “I heard about the missing men and then upon arriving in White Harbor I learned Arya Stark was among those taken. I came to offer my assistance.”

“How can a man from Pentos be of help to us here?” Tyrion asked. 

Daenerys was less discriminating. She’d take help from anywhere. “We need money, a lot of money.” 

“My resources are at your disposal,” he promised. “Shall we go inside and make the arrangements.” 

“We didn’t say how much it would cost,” Tyrion realized aloud. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Illyrio countered. “I’ve worked for years to put a Targaryen on the Iron Throne. Now that there is one, I will do anything in my power to help her succeed.” Addressing Daenerys, he added, “I wanted to come sooner but business in Pentos delayed me.” 

Maybe the Gods weren’t as vengeful as she thought. She needed money and one of the few men in the world capable of affording the outrageous ransom arrived at the gate. She couldn’t let the opportunity slip through her fingers. Arya was counting on her. “Come inside then,” Daenerys encouraged. “You must be tired from your trip and we have a lot of catching up to do.” 

R-C

The hours that followed Illyrio’s arrival were busy for almost everyone. Illyrio’s servants had gone with Tyrion and Sansa to arrange for the gold. Jorah, Grey Worm, Brienne and Podrick were in another part of the castle discussing how to inform the kidnappers they agreed to their terms. The letter had been less than clear about how Daenerys could contact them. As Queen she should have been there to oversee and lead, but she just couldn’t do it. 

It was late when Illyrio found her. She was drinking rum in large, needy gulps, desperate for the oblivion of a dreamless sleep. Early in Arya’s absence she prayed for dreams of her. Multiple nights she received a mixture of memories and fantasies. They were so real, so intense, so perfect that Daenerys wanted to remain there forever. When she woke the pain of not having Arya beside her was crippling. She wanted her to yell at, to fight with, to make up with, to kiss and to love. 

“The girl I remember would not be drinking that,” Illyrio said. For the first time since he arrived outside Winterfell, his words felt like criticism. 

“If you’re looking for that girl,” Daenerys informed him bitterly, “you’re in the wrong place.” 

“I think not,” he said, taking a seat next to her without invitation. “Your brother may have been older, and male but you were always the stronger of the pair. This is made obvious by the fact that you’re here and he’s not.”

Daenerys had her faults but being stupid wasn’t among them. She knew it wasn’t coincidence that Illyrio was here, and with the coins she needed. Illyrio’s wealth should have been across the Narrow Sea in Pentos but it wasn’t. It was with his ship and the bulk of his soldiers in White Harbor, like he knew it would be required. He’d come for a reason, and it wasn’t generosity. She didn’t need to know his motives to be certain he had them. He intended to use her for some unknown purpose, and she was fine with that, as long as she got to use him and his gold first. Speaking of Viserys made Daenerys go back in her mind to his final day. “Do you know how he died?” 

“Your husband killed him,” Illyrio stated factually. 

“No,” she disagreed. “Drogo gave Viserys exactly what was promised, a golden crown worthy of a King. It wasn’t his fault Viserys couldn’t stand the fire.” Maybe the rum was to blame but Daenerys was overwhelmed with a desire to show the Magister she wasn’t the naive girl he once knew. “Do you think Viserys would have sold me to the Dothraki if he knew how it would end? Perhaps he got what he deserved for trying to trade me like a common whore, then again, he wasn’t alone in that was he?” Her message was cold and harsh, but it served its purpose. The Daenerys Targaryen from Pentos would never have said something like that to him, even if she thought it. 

“Viserys had his faults, but he loved you.” 

Dany scoffed. “He loved me when it suited him, when it was convenient and beneficial.”

“That’s still love,” Illyrio tried to justify. “Viserys wasn’t perfect but few of us are.” 

She would much rather be drinking in peace. She made a bold move to end the conversation. “Why are you really here?”

“I came to help,” he said, repeating his earlier claim. “I thought you’d be glad, given how sincerely you need it.” 

She emptied her glass before she responded. “You don’t give a fuck about the Starks, so try again and this time, the truth.” 

Illyrio laughed lightly, with one hand on his belly. “I like this Daenerys better,” he decided. “This one has what it takes to rule. She doesn’t need her brother or anybody else.”

Daenerys didn’t believe that for a second, but didn’t correct him. The list of people she needed grew larger every day. She needed Missandei to offer friendship and kindness, she needed Tyrion to remind her of her obligations to the Realm, she needed Jorah and Grey Worm for protection. The Dothraki reminded her of all she’d survived, and then there was Arya. She needed Arya badly. She toyed with the pendant she’d been given and thought about how blessed she’d been. The odds were difficult to comprehend. That she could run away from the Red Keep on that night, go to that tavern and meet the one woman who could help her find herself. 

“That necklace is beautiful,” Illyrio said when he noticed her touching it. 

She smiled slightly. “It is.” 

“I spent some time reviewing the list of items you are considering selling to raise the necessary gold. Most of your jewelry was on it, even things I know were given to you by the Khal and Viserys. There was no entry for an item like the one you’re wearing however.”

She worked hard to keep her face empty. He was right, she was prepared to part ways with almost all of her jewelry. The two exceptions being one piece given to her by Drogo shortly before he died, and the one she was wearing. “It’s not on the list because it’s not for sale.” 

“That necklace is more important to you than arranging the release of Lady Stark’s soldiers and sister?”

There was nothing about Illyrio that entitled him to the truth about Daenerys’s private life, so she ignored his question entirely. “Are you going to answer me? Why are you really here?”

“Do you miss Essos?” he asked. 

She was more than a little annoyed but his inability to answer her, but she bit her tongue hard to keep from saying something that would undo everyone’s hard work. She needed his money until Arya was back, and then she could make demands. “Sometimes.”

“You still have friends there. Powerful friends who can provide you with things you never dreamed possible. As I once did.” Neither spoke for a moment, they just sized up one another. “I had no idea when I gave you your wedding present just how important they would become. Would you be where you are now, without your dragons, our dragons?”

She didn’t like the implication. Her children did not belong to Illyrio just because he was the one who gave them to her. She owed him nothing. Those eggs were beautiful and useless until she took possession of them and hatched them. Illyrio hadn’t been there with her in the flames, he didn’t watch them learn to fly and he wasn’t there when one of them was killed. 

“Strange that you come around now. If you truly wished to help, why wait until the wars were won?” 

“As I mentioned earlier, my business kept me occupied. I spent some time in Meereen recently. You may no longer be their Queen, but the people there love you still.” 

Years in power had taught her to recognize when she was being manipulated. It caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. “I’m sure,” she spat sarcastically as she refilled her glass. She made no offer to share her alcohol. “Just as men in Westeros plotted and drank secret toasts to help Viserys retake the throne?”

“I told your brother what he needed to hear,” he justified. “He needed to think he had allies, and he did, even if they were fewer in number than I may have led him to believe.” 

She thought back to her first days in Westeros. There weren’t many people lining up at Dragonstone to pledge their loyalty and offer their swords to her cause. It had taken hard work for her to gain allies and earn trust. She’d done that not Viserys or Illyrio. “Don’t tell me what I want to hear, tell me the truth.” 

“The truth is, you need me,” he said confidently. “Ruling is difficult isn’t it? No one understands that until they have real power. People erroneously think its rising to the top that’s hard, but as I’m sure you’ve realized that’s child’s play compared to what comes after. Staying there is the true test.” 

Beginning to see what he was after, Daenerys kept her voice even. “And you wish to help me with this?”

“Who better than I?” Illyrio said in challenge. “I knew you when you were young. I supported you, I cared for you and I have plenty of experience.” 

“I have advisors already.”

“Can a good Queen ever have too many?” he fired back. “Your advisors weren’t able to secure the gold you needed. It was me who did that.” He did have a point, loathe as she was to admit it. “I helped you today, allow me to help you in the future.” 

She’d heard enough. Daenerys stood, holding her glass level. “You’ve given me a lot to think about Illyrio. It’s been a long day, please excuse me, I think it’s time I retire.” 

He stood when she did, in a gesture of respect. “Of course, your Grace. Rest well. We can speak more tomorrow.” 

R-C

Arya had never been fond of cages. Too many unpleasant memories. She’d done what she’d come to do. She learned about the people behind the plot against Sansa and now it was time for her to end the danger forever. 

She paid attention every time the door opened enough to shine light into the barn. She noted the pile of filthy clothes thrown to one side. She couldn’t see the pants or shirt that had been taken from her, but she trusted they were in there somewhere. Her clothes and those of every man in every other cage. 

She kept an eye out for any weapons but the men holding them were smart enough to keep the blades somewhere else. Likely the same place that housed her missing armor. She’d need to relieve one of the sell-swords of his weapon if she was going to mount an escape. An inconvenient detail but not impossible. In fact, Arya was looking forward to getting her hands on something sharp. 

When the man who’d knocked her out twice came in carrying a bucket of clean water, she knew the Many Faced God favored her still. Inciting his anger would be easier than the others. 

He was walking past her cage when she called out to him. “Hey asshole, I need to talk to the man in charge again.” 

He dropped the bucket he was carrying, spilling water onto the ground as it settled. “Stanley doesn’t want to talk to you,” the sell-sword said. 

Arya smirked. Stanley huh? She did appreciate idiots. They made gathering intelligence easier. “How about you do what I tell you and go fucking get him,” she demanded. 

He came up to her cage and kicked it hard. The force had her bouncing around the small space. “The fuck did you say to me, you little cunt?”

“Too many big words?” she asked, mocking him with her tone. 

“Stanley says you’re valuable,” the brute informed her. “Said to keep you alive, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun with you.”

“You’re not my type.”

“Handsome, charming, clever?” As he listed off his alleged attributes Arya rolled her eyes. 

“A man.”

He grinned at his good fortune. “A pussy licker? I shoulda guessed. That’s going to make this even more fun.” 

Listening all around her were Stark men loyal to her family. Ozwick spoke for them. “Leave the girl be!” he yelled. 

Arya cursed under her breath when the sell-sword looked like he intended to confront the Captain. She reached through the bars and grabbed the leg of his pants. “Come on tough guy, let’s see what you’ve got.” 

Easily distracted, he forgot about Ozwick and walked away. Arya thought she missed her chance but luckily, he didn’t go far. On the wall, in a shadow, right beside the barn’s door he retrieved a big ring of keys. He twirled them on his finger as he made his way back to her. 

Seeing the keys was a bonus. It would save time if she didn’t have to break open every cage by hand. She remained down on her stomach and tried to appear nonthreatening as he tested one key after another in a futile attempt to find the right one. 

His frustration after more than a dozen failures made it easy to take advantage. She listened for the telltale click of the turning lock and as soon as she heard it, she threw her entire body into the cage door. She likely did more damage to her shoulder than to his knees, but it was worth it. 

Staggering back while he cursed at her, she crawled out of the cage and into the barn itself. Her legs and arms throbbed from a lack of use as she tried to stand. Her legs were shaking and before she could straighten, he was on her. “Fucking cunt!” he screamed as he pulled back his leg for a kick. She tried to block it but was too slow. He sent her back against the cages, bruising her back and maybe cracking a rib. 

He had her by the hair and was dragging her toward the center of the barn. She refused to cry out despite the pain. “You can’…can’t kill… me … remember.”

That limitation kept her alive. If he had been free to kill her, he would have drawn his sword and done it. Since he couldn’t, he beat her with brutal kicks and punches. She tried three separate times to stand but the barrage kept up. 

She wasn’t prepared for how weak she’d be after so many days in such a tight space. She was paying for that ignorance now. Lying on her side he pulled her to her knees by her hair. Kneeling in front of the sell-sword he pulled back his leg for a kick. She used her limited strength and superior speed and struck first, hitting him squarely in the crotch. His leg never came forward, and his hold of her hair fell away. 

He staggered back until he reached the cages and then leaned on one to regain his balance. Taking advantage of the extra space Arya managed to stand fully for the first time. She was readying herself for his next assault when she heard him cry out in pain. Instead of charging her the big sell-sword turned toward the cage he’d been leaning on and kicked it hard. Whoever was in that cage was due a reward. He’d risked his own life to help her. She wouldn’t let the opportunity pass. 

Every step she took carried her closer to feeling like her old self. The ache in her muscles dulled but didn’t disappear and her confidence returned. He had his back to her when Arya arrived. She made a fist and gave three quick punches in rapid succession into his kidney. He was unprepared for her. Both of his hands grabbed the cages to stay upright and again the men in the cages punished him for getting too close. He swung back wildly and managed to make partial contact. She’d come too far to stop now. 

Kicking him in the back of the knee as hard as she could, she finally brought the man down to a reasonable size. He didn’t fall but his injured leg bent dropping his upper half down. With a grunt of effort and pain she threw herself onto his back. Her ankles closed around his stomach, and she gripped the back of shirt tightly as he tried to toss her off. As soon as his neck was within reach, she wrapped one arm under his chin, pressing her forearm into his windpipe. 

Arya learned long ago being the biggest and strongest didn’t necessarily mean you were guaranteed victory. She kept squeezing his throat until he collapsed. The fall would have separated them if her grip hadn’t been so tight. She stopped short of killing him but did knock him unconscious. She tentatively unwound herself from his body and stretched to get a sense of her injuries. She’d be sore for a while, but she’d had worse. 

“Are you alright m’lady?” Ozwick asked her. 

Standing over the beaten man she removed his sword quickly. On her way to Ozwick’s cage she picked up the keys from the floor. Without knowing how the keys were arranged and with no time to find out, she used the sword to break Ozwick’s lock and then passed him the ring. “Get everyone out and get dressed.” 

He was already working on the tasks she assigned him when he asked, “And what of you m’lady?”

Thinking of Stanley, she told the truth. “I have more work to do.” 

By the time the last cage was open Arya was dressed and armed. She took the forgotten bucket of water over to the body of the sell-sword and then stood over him. She gripped his hair as he had hers and then plunged his face down into the water. This roused him from whatever perverted or demented dream he was having, and he began squirming until he felt the cold steel of his own sword against the back of his neck. “Good boy,” she taunted him. “Now if you want to live, you’re going to call for your friend Stanley. Tell him there is an emergency.” 

He’d comply. He didn’t have a choice and he knew it. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Not sure what people are going to think about this. I feel like Illyrio gets forgotten about, but when I needed someone with money, I thought he’d be more interesting than the Iron Bank. His history with all the different characters helps too. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. 
> 
> RC


	14. Chapter 14

“He wants a role as your advisor,” Tyrion summarized. Sansa was taking Illyrio and his friends on a tour of Winterfell which afforded Daenerys the opportunity to speak freely to those she trusted. 

“Yes, he thinks he can be of use to me,” Daenerys said, thinking back to the labored conversation she had with the Magister. 

“I don’t trust him,” Jorah said to everyone. 

“It’s not about trust,” the Lannister countered. “We need his gold.” 

“That gold will come with strings attached,” Jorah responded, not giving an inch. 

“Of course, it will, but for Arya’s sake, perhaps that’s a risk we have to take.” 

Daenerys let them argue in peace. At least until she heard Jorah say, “Maybe the price is too high.” 

Tyrion looked away from the knight to Daenerys, expecting a heated outburst. She didn’t keep him in suspense for long. “I don’t care if I have to fill my court with fishmongers and Illyrio’s favorite whores, I’ll do it, if that’s what it takes!” she roared. 

“Khaleesi, you must be careful,” he said trying to sooth her with honeyed words. “You’ve made great strides in showing the Lords of Westeros you’re reasonable and fair. You mustn’t throw that away now. Not like this.”

What he really meant was -- ‘not for her.’ “Remember which of us is the Queen.”

“No one is suggesting we abandon Arya,” Tyrion supplied smoothly. He was an excellent mediator. “If you agree to Illyrio’s terms we’ll support you, if not, we’ll continue searching.” 

“What happens if you say no?” Missandei asked. 

“He didn’t say so outright, but I expect his offer of support would disappear when he did,” Daenerys guessed. 

“A wise prediction,” Tyrion assumed. “Varys knows Illyrio far better than I. Should I send word to King’s Landing and ask if he can be trusted?” 

“We don’t have time for that.” Arya didn’t have time for that. She’d deal with Illyrio when the time was right. 

“It may…” Tyrion started. 

The conversation stopped abruptly when Sansa and Brienne appeared with the group from Pentos. “Thank you for the lovely tour Lady Stark. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. 

“It was a pleasure,” Sansa replied, “and the least I could do given all you’re doing to help my family.” 

“I’d do anything for Daenerys,” he declared boldly. 

The woman in question resisted the urge to roll her eyes. In an attempt to hide her feelings from the man she still needed, she turned to Grey Worm. “Any luck?” He’d been involved in the latest search. 

“No Arya, your Grace,” he said with his eyes downcast.

“And the courier?” Tyrion asked. Since they needed a way to contact the kidnappers, they’d been searching for the courier who dropped the ransom letter. So far, he too was proving elusive. 

“You are looking for a courier?” Illyrio verified. 

“A note was left,” Jorah explained, “detailing the price owed for each prisoner’s release.”

“I do quite a bit of business in this part of the world,” he announced, “I could reach out to my associates if you like and see if any of them know who kidnappers might hire to deliver such a note.” 

“If the Queen wishes your help, she’ll ask for it,” Jorah replied sternly. 

“Who among you would be here without me?” Illyrio inquired passionately. “Without me Jorah you’d be just another sell-sword. I sent you to Daenerys and gave your life purpose.”

“Hey,” Daenerys called roughly. She refused to let anyone speak to her advisors that way. She didn’t care how important Illyrio thought he was, Jorah was a knight who deserved respect. 

“Let’s try and stay calm,” Tyrion urged. 

“Who’s home provided you shelter Tyrion, on your first days in Essos?” 

“Yours,” he admitted. 

“Her dragons were hatched from eggs I gave her. You see me as a new arrival, but the truth is, I’ve been helping Daenerys longer than any of you.” 

“You’re right,” Daenerys said even as the words tasted like acid on her tongue. “Please forgive my friends, they are very protective of me.” 

Illyrio’s anger was gone, his smile once again in place. “Think nothing of it, my dear.” 

“Please speak to your friends and see if anyone knows this courier. Grey Worm can introduce you to the gate guards who got the best look at him. They should be able to provide you with a description of the man we seek.” 

“Of course, your Grace,” Illyrio accepted. “The gold should be here in the next few days. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to discover the name of the courier.”

Daenerys prayed Arya could hold out that long. 

R-C

For the first time since Arya was taken Daenerys felt they were making real progress. 

Illyrio’s spy or source, whatever he was, he came through. Bribes were paid, more gold than Daenerys wanted to think about changed hands and they got the information. They learned of the existence of a courier who didn’t concern himself with the contents of the packages he carried. To him it didn’t matter if his cargo fell within the strictest interpretation of the law or not. He only cared about his fee. Pay it, and he’d deliver anything to anyone. 

Illyrio’s wagons of gold were a day’s ride outside Winterfell, if the weather held. Daenerys was too busy thinking about the good news to question the details too heavily. Tyrion had no such problem and that’s what made him so vital to her success. “How can the gold be so close? It couldn’t have made the trip from Pentos so quickly.” 

“Does it matter? It’s here and…”

“And nothing,” Daenerys interjected, “answer his question. You told me you knew of the kidnappings and came to help me.” She said the last two words with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “We didn’t receive the ransom until you were already on your way to Winterfell, so how could you possibly get money from Pentos so suddenly, unless you knew ahead of time that you’d need it.”

Illyrio thought for a moment. When he did speak, he was choosing his words carefully. A wise decision since anything he said would be highly scrutinized. “I knew the men were taken. I thought even if you didn’t need ransom, gold would still be beneficial.”

“How?” Tyrion asked from Daenerys’s side. 

“Gold is what keeps the world spinning, for mercenaries and bandits more so. It seems to be the only reason many of them wake in the morning.” When no one laughed at his attempted joke he moved on. “Whatever they planned to do with the captives, I was positive there would be a profit in it for them. I brought the gold so that I could make them a better offer.”

“What of the courier?” 

“One of my men has arranged a meeting with him for midday tomorrow.”

“Is the letter ready?” she asked Tyrion since he was the one who drafted it.

“It’s finished,” he confirmed. 

“What does it say?” 

He moved around some papers on the table until he found the right one. “That we agree to their terms and will pay at a time and place of the kidnapper’s choosing provided the hostages remain unharmed.”

It was to the point, exactly how Daenerys wanted it. There was only one thing missing. “Add that they must take their gold and leave Westeros. If they return, they’ll face the Queen’s justice.” 

As she anticipated, her advisors were strongly opposed to the addition. Jorah went first. “Khaleesi, perhaps we should wait until after the Stark troops are safe to share such a message.” 

“Negotiations like this are fragile, it might do more harm than good,” Tyrion continued. 

“I think she should threaten them,” Illyrio proclaimed. “She’s their Queen and they attacked her allies. She may be paying them, but if they’re free to remain in Westeros what keeps them from doing the same thing and asking for more, next week or next month?”

“Put it in the letter,” she instructed Tyrion. “They get the money in exchange for Arya, the men and their promise that they won’t return.” 

“I fear you’re putting too much faith in the word of a sell-sword.”

“Speaking from experience?” Illyrio asked Jorah snidely. 

She huffed at the childish back and forth. “Do it,” she said with finality. “As for the meeting, I’ll be joining you.” 

This time the disapproval of her idea was universal. “That’s too dangerous,” Jorah said. “The courier may bring friends and if he does, they’re likely to be the same men holding Arya.”

“Good,” Daenerys said without thinking it through. “I am looking forward to meeting those men.”

“No Daenerys,” Tyrion tried, “I think what Mormont was trying to say is that for men like that, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms might be too good a prize to ignore. You could end up where Arya is.” 

Did he think she didn’t realize that? That was one of the primary reasons she was suggesting it. Free or not, she’d be with Arya soon, the rest was just noise. 

It was Illyrio’s turn to waste his breath. “I agree with Tyrion,” he said calmly. “I know you wish to help, but you must take your emotions out of it. They are just people, you are a Queen.”

Her right hand actually twitched as she considered slapping him. How dare he say such a thing? Arya wasn’t just some woman, she was the woman Dany loved. The soldiers weren’t interchangeable pieces that could be swapped out by the newest crop to finish their training. They had wives, parents, friends, and children. Daenerys and Sansa had met with many of them. She heard their anguish and promised to do everything in her power to return their loved one to them as soon as possible. 

Daenerys stood up, effectively ending the discussion. “I’ve made up my mind. Hopefully by the time the gold arrives, we’ll know where to take it.” 

R-C

She was on the battlement, above Winterfell’s entrance. She started coming to this spot when Sana told her it was a favorite of Arya’s. Apparently, she would stand where Dany was and think about her problems. Daenerys could understand the appeal. She could see for miles. Such a view had a way of making everything else seem smaller in comparison. 

Arya was out there somewhere. She probably didn’t expect Daenerys to come and get her, but she would anyway. Daenerys would find her, and she was prepared to forgive her. The days without Arya provided the Queen with a glimpse of what her life would become without Arya in it. It looked a lot like the life she had before she ran away and ended up in a tavern where a woman fought snakes. Each day she was quicker to anger than the one previous. Any viewpoint that opposed hers, no matter how valid, infuriated her. So far, she’d been able to keep the worst of her impulses buried but if Arya left her life permanently, she doubted that trend would continue. How long could she rely on memories to satisfy the part of her that needed to feel normal? 

She thought of the day she met Ronan and sentenced him to death. It was Arya and only Arya who had subdued Daenerys’s darkness. What happened next time if Arya wasn’t there to pull her back? Would she fall and become as vindictive and cruel as her brother, as paranoid and deranged as her father? That wasn’t the future she wanted, for herself or her people and Arya alone could help her prevent it. 

The night before Missandei brought wine to Daenerys’s chamber and they talked about Arya. Not about the future and what might happen, but the past. Through her innocent inquires she had Daenerys remembering all the reasons she fell in love with Arya in the first place. The only advice came when she said, “Love is rare. I never thought I’d find it, and with a soldier, but I did and I’m grateful. I’m grateful to you for bringing us together, grateful to Grey Worm and the Gods. You’re a fighter Daenerys, fight for this.” She promised that she would, not only to appease Missandei, but because she made sense. Love like the kind she felt for Arya was special. She couldn’t rightly expect it to come around again in her lifetime. The question then became a simple one – Were Arya’s crimes so great that they were worth throwing what they had away? Forgiveness had never been her first instinct but for Arya she’d need to do it, even if it was hard.

She heard him approach but didn’t acknowledge him. “The gold will be here by the time we return from our appointment. Everyone is ready to go.” 

Appointment? He made their meeting with a courier for kidnappers seem so official. “How did your man convince the courier to meet with us?” Daenerys asked, not breaking eye contact with the horizon. 

“He paid him” he said decisively. “The courier will be there, but only today.” 

“Let’s go then,” she said finally turning. Illyrio wore a fur-lined cloak she hadn’t seen before. 

“Yes, well before we leave, I thought it best to discuss a few things,” Illyrio started casually. 

“Such as?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I have been committed to putting a Targaryen on the throne for most of my life.” 

She didn’t roll her eyes, but she wanted to. This again? What did he want, a pat on the head for all his good deeds? “And yet a Targaryen took the throne without you.”

“Without me?” he repeated becoming red in the face. “How can you say that? It was my idea to wed you to Drogo. The army you led after his death, came from that introduction. The Unsullied you bought in Astapor were paid for with Drogon, a dragon you wouldn’t have had without my gift. I may not have been in the small council meetings but don’t imagine for a second you’d be where you are today without me.” 

He wasn’t saying anything new. The difference was that he was visible frustrated by her unwillingness to agree with the value of his contributions. “Is that all?” Daenerys wondered, her voice colder than the wind. 

“You are hours away from being reunited with your lover, because I came here in a ship filled with gold.” 

It didn’t surprise her that he knew. She assumed when he commented on her necklace that he knew where she got it and why she wouldn’t sell it. The fact that she and Arya shared a bed was no longer a secret. If it wasn’t common knowledge yet, it would be soon. “I’m grateful for your help Illyrio, truly.” 

“Did you know your brother once gave me his word? Viserys promised me on the night before your wedding, that when he had the Iron Throne and Usurpers were dead, he’d name me Hand of the King.” 

“I already have a Hand, I’m sorry but that position is not available,” she said as diplomatically as she could. 

“I understand,” he responded kindly. “Tyrion is a fine choice and if you’re happy with his work, I won’t insist you honor your brother’s pledge.” 

She sensed they were getting closer to the point, so she treaded carefully. “Thank you for being so understanding.” 

“I’m willing to accept another suitable position in your service.” 

“Such as?”

Time wasted talking was time the courier could use to disappear. If he left before they got there, it could take days or weeks to find him again. Every second increased Illyrio’s bargaining position and he was too smart not to know it. 

“Master of the Coin, perhaps,” he said doing what he could to stay relaxed. “I’m aware that position is also occupied but what if I were to fill the treasury with the remainder of the gold I brought from Pentos? You’d not only get a surplus of money, you’d add someone well-versed in all manner of financial and business dealings to your service.” 

This was it. The question they’d been dancing around since he showed his face. If they were going to parlay, she needed to hear the terms. “And if I say no?”

“My people and I will bid you goodbye and return to Pentos,” he said with a smile. He did a good job of making it sound like it wouldn’t bother him to go back empty-handed. Daenerys knew better than to believe that. He’d come all this way to get a spot in King’s Landing and Illyrio Mopatis was not the sort of man used to failure. 

“With your gold?” she asked bluntly, forcing him to say it. 

“Yes.”

Normally Tyrion, Missandei, Jorah and Grey Worm were present for negotiations. Different as they were. they each provided unique insights she valued. She was glad they weren’t present for this. They’d only disapprove of her choice to let Illyrio force her hand to save Arya. They’d try to change her mind and when it was over, everything would be as it was now. 

She actually thought she was getting off easy. As a bonus she learned something significant about Illyrio. He coveted the role of Hand but didn’t demand it. Likely he didn’t think she’d comply. When she declined, he moved on quickly. He had his second choice ready and waiting, one he thought Daenerys could tolerate. If only he knew how highly Daenerys valued Arya. No price was too much. If Illyrio had insisted on being Hand, she would have made him ask a few more times, but she would have relented. She would have let him be King if that’s what it took. 

“Deal,” she said. 

His smile widened and he nodded in confirmation before pulling her into a hug. “We’re going to do great things Daenerys.” 

She pulled away and the polite, fake smile she’d been holding dropped away. “We’re already behind schedule. Let’s go.” 

R-C

The fifth time the beaten sell-sword yelled for Stanley without success Arya could tell he was becoming nervous. He was afraid of what would befall him if his boss didn’t heed his call soon. She considered easing his burden by telling him his fate was decided. Nothing that did or didn’t happen could change that. 

She had his sword so close to his throat that ever breath he took was a risk. “Try again!” Arya barked. 

Ozwick came to her side. “The men are as ready as they can be. The wagons and horses are in the next building over.” 

She extended her right arm for an awkward shake. It wasn’t her dominant hand, but it seemed like Ozwick appreciated the gesture. “Captain Ozwick, m’lady. Pleased to see you again, though last time you were just a girl, and I, was a much younger man.” 

“I’m Arya and thank you for your help.”

They yelled for Stanley again with no result. “Perhaps he’s not there m’lady. The only time he ever came to the barn was to see you and that was after you’d been with us for several days.”

Arya was starting to worry Ozwick was right. The Captain had the look of an old soldier. It made her smile. He reminded her of her father, not in physical appearance, but in the quiet determination with which he carried himself. That, and the kindness in his eyes that revealed a goodness inside. “Maybe. When the fighting starts you take the men, steal the wagons, steal the horses and go. Ride for Winterfell and don’t stop for anything. Your Queen anxiously awaits your return.” 

“I pledged my sword and my life to your father when I was barely old enough to know what that meant,” Ozwick told her. “I fought for your brother Robb and would have died with him at the Twins had he not sent me on an errand. When Jon came down from the Wall, I joined his cause and fought beside him against the Night King and Ramsay Snow. When your sister pledged her forces to the Targaryen, I went to war against the Lannisters in King’s Landing. My place is with you, between you and what awaits.” 

“We only have one sword,” she pointed out. “I’m not letting you all get killed because you’re too proud to run.”

“We do not need swords to be dangerous.” 

Arya liked this man. She didn’t see even a flicker of fear in him. He was prepared to die fighting beside her, just because she had Ned Stark’s blood in her veins. “Do you have a family?”

“Aye,” he confirmed with a smile. “A wife and two daughters, nearly grown now.” 

“You’ve served my family for a long time. You’ve done enough. When someone comes through those doors, I’ll attack, you take these men and you go.” He was going to protest, she could tell, so she ended it with an authoritative, “That’s an order Captain.” 

“Someone’s coming,” one of Ozwick’s men whispered as he peeked through a gap in the barn’s warped wall. The wood had separated just enough for him to see. 

“How many?” Arya asked. 

“Three, he said, sounding unhappy with the news he had to give. 

“Stanley?”

“Can’t tell,” he admitted. 

In truth it didn’t matter. He couldn’t hide from her forever. It was time to get started. “I did what you wanted…” the sell-sword at her feet said as if that might save him. 

“You did,” she agreed, before she ended his life with a smooth stroke of the sword. She abandoned him before his body fell, moving toward the door. 

“What the fuck are you yelling for!? Stanley’s gone!” The man died without realizing why no one answered. He crossed the threshold and unknowingly stepping within reach of Arya’s stolen sword. She plunged it into his chest and then used her foot to kick him away, already getting ready for the next kill. 

The two survivors were startled. Arya didn’t see Stanley or Ben, but she did recognize the man who’d embarrassed Stanley so much that he was sent away, the one who didn’t know Sansa’s name. If Stanley was gone, that man would know where Arya should go next. 

She backed up into the barn, making the men to follow. When the door was clear, she waved for Ozwick to begin escaping with the men. If the sell-swords noticed the dozens of Stark prisoners free they didn’t show it. They’re focus was Arya and her bloody sword. 

They were well-versed in combat. They attacked together, from different angles, forcing Arya to alternate between the two. She used the sword to block one strike and then pushed that man back to rotate and meet the other. 

“I knew you was trouble,” one of them said. “It was in your eyes, the momen’ I saw ya.” He punctuated his statement with a swing of his sword. The blade she was using was heavier than she was used to, it slowed her a bit. Days of surviving on slop, unable to stand hadn’t helped her condition either. She twisted out of the way and brought the tip up to cut the underside of his wrist. She got him but couldn’t pivot fast enough to block the incoming blow. She was cut above her hip. The burn of the slice was familiar. and she could feel blood flowing down her side. Her heart pounded in her ears as she battled the pain. Another blade was coming for her.

She ducked under the outstretched sword-arm of the man who cut her, widening the gash as she moved. She gritted her teeth and hurried past the pair until she was behind them both. They turned as one. She had two or three steps at most before they were on her again. She needed to even the odds before that could happen. She’d have to be quick. 

She moved to her right, closer to the man with the injured hand, farther away from his partner. Arya swung at his middle, not expecting to hit her target. She didn’t. He squared his shoulders and used his sword to block. With their blades locked he began pushing her toward his friend. Instead of going where she was being sent Arya suddenly stepped back, lowering her sword and ending the connection. He’d been leaning into her so heavily that without Arya to press against he faltered. Squatting down she gripped her sword with both hands and angled it up. As she straightened, she thrust the length through his chest before he could regain his footing. 

She felt it, the resistance as she tried to tear the weapon free. With a grunt that inflamed her wound, she pulled harder, but the blade barely shifted. “Fuck!” she cursed. The longsword had gotten caught on a rib, it happened sometimes and usually wasn’t a problem, but weapons were in short supply. She was out of time. The space she’d earned was gone. The remaining sell-sword was close enough to strike, his sword was wet with her blood and it was coming for her again. 

She abandoned the sword lodged in her opponent and dove back in a wild attempt to keep her head attached. It worked only barely. She rolled, slowed by the pain in her side and ended up several feet away from the nearest weapon, flat on her back, with a man who never liked her closing the distance. “Stanley is going to give me a title for this,” he said as he prepared to kill her. 

Her eyes swept the room, looking for anything she might use. There wasn’t much. The bucket of water was just out of reach. She could go for it if she wanted but didn’t like her chances of avoiding a sword in the back. “Stanley wants me alive,” she told him, wondering if that might halt him enough to create an opening. It worked once before. 

“He’ll get over it,” the man said. “Your sister’ll still pay for your corpse.”

He was right above her now, savoring the victory. She didn’t mind. She’d been dead for a long time. Valar Morghulis. She closed her eyes and thought about Dany. She regretted that she’d never get to apologize for the secrets she kept, and that she’d never see the new world Dany was going to build. She had faith in her though. She’d do it, against any and all challengers. “I’m sorry, goodbye,” she whispered to her Dragon. She pulled in a deep breath, steeled herself for what was coming and opened her eyes to look at the man who would kill her. He was pulling his sword back for the final time. 

“Charge men!” Ozwick yelled. 

All at once, unarmed Stark soldiers flooded in like the tide. Some were holding sticks, one man had located an axe and another was wielding a lock from one of the cages. She’d told them to go, ordered them to, and they disobeyed. If Arya needed proof she wasn’t meant to rule, now she had it. She couldn’t even get men loyal to her family to do what she instructed. 

Their leader was holding the sword of one of those Arya killed. He came straight for them, distracting Arya’s attacker as he did. She didn’t need to be told twice. She scurried away and hurried to her feet. Her first act was to find a weapon. She heard the clash of steel, and it propelled her faster. The only thing available was in the sell-sword’s chest, so she got it and then prepared to use it. She was oblivious to her pain and the large pool of blood forming under her. 

The blood that remained in her body ran cold when she saw Ozwick and three of his men down. His troops had attacked the sell-sword with whatever they had available and paid a heavy cost. They looked like they’d live, though Ozwick wasn’t so lucky. He was pressed back against an empty cage, a limp sword in one hand while he pressed his other to an injury that started on his shoulder and stretched across to the other side. It was deep and Arya knew, fatal. 

The unarmed men were doing what they could to keep Ozwick safe using their massive numbers, but they couldn’t hold out much longer. There was no need for them to die senselessly. They should already be on the road to Winterfell. 

She ran the length of the barn, her pain fading to the back of her mind. She pushed her way through the crowd and when she had a clear path to her target, she pounced. She came down with all her weight on the sword’s leading edge. She growled like the Wolf she was as her blade sliced through the air in a grisly arc. He got his weapon up in just enough time to mount a defense, but he was overwhelmed by the momentum and it caused him to lose his hold. She hit the ground at the same time as his sword. Her landing wasn’t graceful or controlled, she struck with a thud. On one knee she recovered, calling of years of practice to push past the pain and the weakness. Ozwick’s men swarmed the unarmed man and knocked him to the ground and holding him there. “Don’t kill him. I want to ask him something!” Arya commanded. 

She went to Ozwick then. A few were tending to him. “You idiot,” she said, with a sad smile. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

He had collapsed into an awkward sitting pose with one of his legs bent under him while the other stretched out in front. “Ga…gave you…your father an…an oath,” he said before he stopped to cough up blood, “p…promised to prote…hi…s…fam…ly.”

Although his final words were unclear, she understood his message perfectly. “You did your job well Ser Ozwick. The North will remember you.” With blood stained fingers she closed his empty eyes. 

“Your wound m’lady,” one of the men said. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t!” she snapped. She looked at the dead Captain and his injured troops. They gave for her, and she didn’t deserve it. “Go outside, ready the horses and wagons.” 

“They’re ready m’lady, Ozwick had men doing that.” 

Of course, he did. She ignored the eyes on her and the obvious need for urgency. Some things took priority over even escape. She moved Ozwick’s body, so it was lying flat. She folded his arms over his chest and then set a bloody sword between them, just in case he needed it where he was going. “God of Many Faces,” she prayed, kneeling in blood with her hands clasped, “greet this brave hero at the gate. Honor his sacrifice. Reunite him with those who met You first and watch over his wife and daughters until they can be together again. Protect him from the flames and keep a legion of Your Faceless Men between him and his enemies. It would be me meeting You now if not for him.”

Satisfied she’d done all she could, she stood tall, wincing as she did. She blinked back tears she refused to cry and tried to plot her next move. 

“I’ve never heard a prayer like that,” someone said. “Were you asking the Old Gods to take him?” 

“No,” Arya answered sharply. “Take his body to the wagon and head back to Winterfell. 

“What about you?”

“I need to find Stanley,” she said as she pressed her hand against her side to see just how much blood she was losing. The answer was undeniable, too much. As the adrenaline from the combat waned the effects became more pronounced. 

“We’ll remain with you, help you,” the young man offered. 

She wasn’t having this argument again. She’d told Ozwick to go, he refused and now he was dead. She wouldn’t be responsible for the deaths of even more innocents. Her conscience was crowded enough. 

She turned quickly to send them away, but she staggered, and his arms were the only thing that kept her from falling. Fuck, she’d need to tend to her wound before she could chase Stanley. 

Rage was a friend she knew well. Hate her ever-present companion. Even after her List was empty of its names, they stayed with her. Arya embraced them now, welcomed them. They fueled her. She leaned on the sword a bit as she limped to the beaten man. “I’m only going to ask you this once, where is Stanley?”

He spit on her in reply. “Fuck you, you stupid cun…”

He didn’t get to finish his insult. She shifted her weight off the sword and raised it just high enough to insert it into his stomach. It was a slow push, inch by inch, feeding him his death in a deliberate, painful way. He gripped the blade feebly and tried to fight, but it was useless. She withdrew the sword and assessed her work. It would kill him without question, but it wouldn’t be quick. He didn’t deserve quick, he killed Ozwick. Now he’d have an hour at least to think about his choices, surrounded by the bodies of his friends, choking on his blood, trying to hold his guts in place. He could yell but she didn’t think he’d have the strength to get anyone’s attention. No matter who found him or when, they wouldn’t be able to save him. 

Her hate and rage basked in her dark thoughts. Rationally she knew this man had information she needed, he could direct her to Stanley or share other useful knowledge, but logic was far below her more primal desires. She’d find Stanley one way or another, because she wouldn’t stop hunting him until she had. He’d pay for his crimes, just like every sell-sword he employed. If it took years, she’d spend years. It needed to be done. 

Arya didn’t fight as the troops helped her out of the barn. As promised the wagons and horses were ready. Arya saw two bodies, both sell-swords. She didn’t know which of the men killed them or how, it didn’t seem important enough to ask. She checked each face for Stanley and was disappointed he was not rotting yet. Perhaps he was gone as the one sell-sword said. Before she climbed into the wagon, she took a look around. She didn’t have much of a chance to examine her surroundings on the way in. Oddly, there wasn’t a homestead anywhere she could see. Just the barn and the building she now knew to be the stable. Where were the sell-swords living? They had to be close enough to go back and forth from the barn, but far enough away that most remained unaware of the escape. She saw nothing that would suggest they were nearby 

She did what she could to remain awake for the ride back to Winterfell. One of the men took off his shirt and offered it to Arya to slow the bleeding. The shirt was filthy, but it was better than nothing. She should be dead. That was hardly a new feeling, but she was uncomfortable with the fact that Ozwick died for her. Oath or not, he should have left her behind. 

R-C

Daenerys wanted to take Drogon to get to the meeting faster but was warned against doing so. If she flew while the others travelled by horse, she’d get to the courier first and be vulnerable to kidnap or assassination before her guards could catch up. 

Sansa, Missandei and Tyrion remained in Winterfell with Illyrio’s servants. His guards, the Magister himself, Grey Worm, a contingent of Unsullied, along with Jorah and Brienne of Tarth were all accompanying Daenerys to the meeting. Sansa insisted Brienne go along and the Targaryen didn’t mind her attendance. She was capable and cared for the Stark sisters. Daenerys trusted Brienne would be on her side if she had to fight to get Arya back. 

When they were close, Jorah steered his horse to Daenerys’s. “Stay back Khaleesi, Grey Worm and Brienne will make contact with the courier and ensure there is no danger.”

That would take more time than Daenerys was willing to spend. “Fuck that!” She squeezed her thighs and pushed her horse forward, galloping past the Unsullied meant to shield her. She dismounted and left the horse loose for someone else to tie up as she hurried ahead. Jorah yelled for her to come back. 

Illyrio was at her side before Jorah. “Be cautious, your Grace,” he said softly. “These men are dangerous.” 

“It’s they who should be wary of me,” she told him seriously. 

Grey Worm found the courier first and approached his table. The tavern was mostly empty and reeked of sweat, alcohol and sex. Whores plied their trade shamelessly while half naked serving girls delivered drinks. 

The Unsullied commander dropped a pouch of gold in front of the courier. He was roughly Tyrion’s age with light hair and sharp features. His dark eyes were devoid of any feeling. He looked at the pouch and not the man who presented it. “Who the fuck are you?”

Daenerys stepped forward, ignoring another of Jorah’s attempts to reign her in. “My name is Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You left me a message several days ago outside the gates of Winterfell. I’m here to give you my response.”

Slowly the courier looked up from the table. He raised his glass to his mouth and took a gulp. His shrewd eyes moved from face to face, assessing the state of things. Daenerys didn’t interfere. She wanted him to see them, to realize he was backed into a corner. He needed to understand helping her was the only way out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally said. 

He was a poor liar. He’d agreed to this meeting. She didn’t blame him for changing his mind given the intimidating characters she brought. She doubted he would have consented if Illyrio’s man had been honest about their numbers. Violet eyes studied the room, looking for the hired soldiers the courier surely employed to keep him alive. Two tables on opposite sides of them seemed likely candidates. They were trying to look disinterested, but their eyes kept finding their way back to the Queen. Four more, five in total, if the courier could be included, nowhere near enough to oppose Dany’s group. 

“You are going to tell me what I want to know,” Daenerys informed him. She leaned in and put both her palms flat on the grimy table. His face was close enough to hers that she could feel his breath. “You can sell me the information, or you can scream it to me when one of my dragons is eating you for dinner.” 

The courier would have been a fool to think her threat wasn’t genuine. It absolutely was. “Easy now,” he said, backing away. 

She didn’t give him any quarter, leaning forward to keep invading his personal space. “Last chance. I have fifty men outside and another ten in here,” she exaggerated. 

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” This denial was even weaker than his first.

“How do you think this ends?” she asked. “Do you really think the sell-swords you hired are going to be willing to die for you? Are you paying them enough to battle my Unsullied, and my knights?” She gave him a moment to think things over, then forged ahead. “You can be my friend or my enemy, but one way or another your life will never be the same.”

“It was just a job,” he said, avoiding Daenerys’s eye to watch the warriors for any sign they might attack. They had orders not to use violence without Daenerys’s express consent. The only one he needed to worry about was her. 

“Who hired you?”

“A Northmen,” he said, “Stanley was his name, he hired me to deliver the letter, that’s all.” 

“Where is he now?” she asked. She was close to finding Arya, she could feel it. Her heart was racing. 

“Don’t know,” he muttered. 

She didn’t want to believe him but sadly she did. She wished he was lying so she could beat the truth from him, but she was starting to fear he didn’t have it to give. 

“Where did you last see this Stanley?” Illyrio spoke, separating himself from the group of soldiers. “Where and when did you get the letter?”

“I’ll show you.” The courier turned away from his audience and reached for a bag on the floor. Illyrio’s guards moved in front of him while Jorah and Grey Worm blocked off Daenerys from both sides. It was needless. He came out of the bag holding only a poorly drawn map. As he spread it out on the table, Daenerys slipped past Jorah to get a better look. 

He pointed with a quivering finger. “Here. I got the letter here,” he said. 

“What’s there?” Jorah wondered. 

“A burned farm,” the courier replied, “an old place that didn’t survive the war. The lands are ash, the house is falling down and no one’s around for miles.” 

“Good place to plot a kidnapping,” Illyrio remarked. 

“Or hide prisoners,” Brienne added. 

Jorah memorized the map from over her shoulder. “It’ll take days to get the gold there,” he predicted. 

“Have you heard from this Stanley since?” Illyrio wanted to know. 

He shook his head. “No, not a word, I swear.”

“Did you see any prisoners while you were there?” Brienne inquired, speaking for her Queen. 

“No, only Stanley and a few of his men.”

“How many?” It was clear they were already calculating their odds in combat. 

“A handful maybe. The plot of land was huge. There coulda been a lot more I didn’t see.” 

Daenerys had heard enough. She nudged the gold Grey Worm had set out with her pinky finger. “I want to hire you to bring a reply to Stanley for me. Tell him you met with me and tell him I agree to his terms.” She held out a hand and waited for Jorah to pass the document Tyrion prepared. It was sealed with the Targaryen stamp, confirming its authenticity. “Can you do that?”

“Y…yes…” he stammered. 

“Be quick,” she encouraged, “and when you’re done, I strongly suggest you spend some of your newfound wealth to secure passage across the sea. If you come before me again, I won’t be as generous as I was today.” 

On her way out, Daenerys noticed how no one would meet her eye. They were working awfully hard to stay out of whatever brought a furious Queen to their corner of the world. Even the courier’s sell-swords were looking away. 

“Think we’ll ever see him again?” she asked those around her. 

“I think he’ll be on his way to Essos before Stanley breaks the seal on your letter,” Jorah guessed with a chuckle, while Brienne concurred. 

Good. She was one step closer to bringing Arya home. Her intention had been to return to Winterfell and wait for Stanley to respond to her proposal. Now, she couldn’t think of any reason she should delay that long. Letters were so impersonal. She could go to the farm with the gold and negotiate with Stanley in person. It would speed things up dramatically and shorten Arya’s time in captivity by days if not weeks. 

R-C

The shipment of gold was safely behind Winterfell’s walls, when they got there. Daenerys had seen gold before, tributes, bribes, gifts, but never anything like this. Whatever else he was doing, Illyrio had honored his pledge to pay the ransom. 

While the gold was being readied for transport Daenerys met with Tyrion in a private room. There were some things he needed to know. 

“You agreed to let Illyrio be Master of the Coin?” he asked without judgement. 

“It was the only way,” she said in justification. 

“I know you want Arya back safely…”

He didn’t know. No one knew. She’d erupted at Arya in anger when she learned who she was. She’d let her unstable blood send her over the edge. She lost all reason. She’d ruined the best thing to happen to her in a very long time and then Arya disappeared before she could fix it. The guilt of that was crushing her. She did what she could to hide it, to focus on the task in front of her, but no matter how successful that strategy was during the day, it did nothing for her come nighttime. Alone in her bed she had only thoughts of Arya to warm her. All their good times, all her mistakes, all the things she wished she’d said. Tyrion didn’t understand because he couldn’t. She loved Arya and never told her so. All she could do now was hope she got a second chance. 

Tyrion had been speaking the whole time Dany was lost in her thoughts. She tried not to show how little she heard. He wasn’t done. “I learned a lot growing up with my father,” he said. “For a man who hated me, he spent a lot of time ensuring I learned to be just like him.” 

She didn’t see what Tywin Lannister had to do with their current situation. Before she could ask, Tyrion filled in the gap. “That man had schemes for his schemes. Nothing he did lacked purpose. He was always doing something to advance the Lannister name. As a result, I got quite good at recognizing my father’s attributes in other people. It’s why I avoided Littlefinger whenever possible and why even when I was staying at Illyrio’s home, I knew not to trust him.”

“I don’t trust him either,” Daenerys insisted, “but I do need him to get Arya released.” 

“And then what?” Tyrion questioned rhetorically. “Being Master of Coin will give him a lot of power in the capitol, believe me I know.”

“He’s giving us the gold we need.”

“Consider why he arrived now,” Tyrion said, voicing one of the many things about Illyrio that had bothered Daenerys from the start. “He hid in Pentos while we waged wars. He didn’t offer a copper or a kind word when you were fighting for your life in the Bay of Dragons, in the North, or King’s Landing.” 

Daenerys gave her friend a reassuring smile. “What would you have me do?” 

“Be careful Daenerys,” he said softly. “Illyrio has been determined to help a Targaryen rule Westeros since you were a child. He’s deeply invested and will stop at nothing to get what he wants.” 

“He is getting what he wants.”

Tyrion smirked. “You know as well as I do that a Pentosi Magister didn’t come to Westeros to tend to your treasury. He has some grand scheme that requires you.”

He was right, as he usually was. “I know, but we’ll burn that bridge when we get there. Right now, I want Arya back and Sansa needs her sister.” 

“You aren’t going to wait for a letter, are you?”

“The farm is isolated, it makes sense that they’re there. I’ve waited long enough.” 

Tyrion’s face made clear he wasn’t surprised. “Do you plan on paying the ransom or taking Arya back by force?”

She considered the answer. She knew this was a risk. There was a chance Stanley and Arya wouldn’t be there, it could also be a trap, but she was willing to proceed anyway. “I’ll be ready for both, but I’m willing to pay these men more money than they could spend to give Arya back.”

“Start with that,” Tyrion suggested with a smile. 

She took Tyrion’s arm as they went to the yard. She was lucky to have him in her life, as an advisor and a friend. He’d proven intelligent, resourceful and loyal. Even now, after they achieved all they had set out to do, he was still working tirelessly to keep her safe. His methods were different from Jorah, the Unsullied or the Dothraki, but no less important. 

It was raining hard when she got outside. A strong wind blew the drops horizontally, right into the faces of the would-be travellers. 

“Is everything ready to go?” she asked Grey Worm. 

On her right Mormont and Illyrio shared a look. “Khaleesi,” Jorah said cautiously, “it’ll be getting dark soon.”

Why did he feel the need to state the obvious? Did she look dumb? “As it does every night,” she replied. 

She headed to where she’d left her horse. If the knight wished to continue this pointless conversation, he’d need to catch up. “After sunset the temperature will drop and the rain will turn to snow,” Jorah foretold, his long legs making it easy to stay at Daenerys’s side. “We’ve been riding for hours.”

Illyrio was there too, his horse being tended to by one of his guards. “He’s right Daenerys, bandits lurk on the roads. If we’re not careful we could lose the gold before we reach this Stanley.” 

No! Arya was in the hands of a kidnapper. Dany wasn’t going to leave her there a moment longer than necessary. The best she could do was compromise. “Take the men inside, warm them, get them a meal, and dry clothes, it’ll give me a chance to speak to Sansa.” 

When Jorah put his arm on her shoulder to keep her there, she rounded on him quickly and used her small hand to swat his away, striking between the wrist and elbow. “Daenerys,” he pleaded, “this is a mistake. We should wait for Stanley to reply to your offer.” 

“If you don’t wish to come,” she said plainly, “stay here.”

Brienne appeared from a doorway, stepping out and heading in their direction. In the midst of her stand off with Jorah she almost didn’t hear the woman from Tarth gasp. “Koran,” she said. 

Daenerys adjusted her eyes and found Brienne looking at a man of maybe twenty-two years. He appeared weak, his clothes were spotted with filth, he was wet, and the smell made Daenerys gag. Koran if that was his name was limping slowly, with a woman helping him along. His right arm was folded across his stomach and Daenerys noticed fresh bandages with a dot of red in the center. Had Winterfell been attacked while they were away?

Brienne looked from the man to the Queen. “Your Grace,” she explained, “Koran was a member of the first patrol taken by the kidnappers.” 

Daenerys was speechless. How could that be possible? It did clarify a few things, like his miserable state and his injury but how had he come to be here? They hadn’t paid the ransom yet, hadn’t negotiated with Stanley yet. If Koran was here, then maybe he wasn’t alone. Arya! She dashed for the door, aware of Brienne right behind her. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I know people wanted the fight with Stanley in this chapter, but it didn’t really fit in with the larger plot. I hope you’ll stick around to see what’s next. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> RC


	15. Chapter 15

Tyrion found her in the hall and told her the relevant facts. Arya escaped and freed the captives. They made it back to Winterfell less than an hour before Daenerys returned from her meeting with the courier. There was still a lot they didn’t know, so she focused on what they did, Arya was safe. A weight lifted off her chest. She took a slow, cleansing breath. “Where is she?” Daenerys asked, looking down the long hall, and counting the closed doors. She could be behind any of them. 

“With the Maester.” 

The relief she was savoring vanished, replaced by something worse. She’d only need a Maester if she was hurt. By the Gods, no. Please, no. She forced the words out, not even trying to keep her voice from shaking. “How bad?” 

“She’s alive,” he said, starting with the best information. “Apparently she was wounded in the escape. Sansa and the Tarly are with her now.” 

The Tarly. She pictured the round, shy Maester, formerly of the Night’s Watch. He’d been a friend of Jon’s and a valuable resource in their fight against the White Walkers. It was hard not to be awed by his intellect from time to time, even if his awkward, stuttering delivery took some getting used to. She was glad it was him looking after Arya, his knowledge could rival many scholars twice his age. 

Her first encounter with Tarlys was the father and son who refused to bend the knee after they were defeated. She burned them alive for their disobedience. They had aligned themselves with Cersei and that was all the reason Daenerys needed. She didn’t learn about Sam and his relation to them until later. She liked to think she might have done things differently if she’d known, but remembering how furious she’d been, it’s probable it would have ended the same way regardless. On her first days in Winterfell, when the Northmen were nothing but opposed to her presence, she feared her rash acts against the Tarlys would be what tipped the scales and pushed Jon to end their alliance. She apologized sincerely to both Sam and Jon, and while they accepted, apologies couldn’t undo her mistakes, no matter how heartfelt. When the Night King was vanquished Sam stayed in Winterfell, with his wife and son, in Sansa’s service. 

“How did they escape?” Brienne wondered. 

“According to the survivors,” Tyrion began carefully, “Arya instigated a fight with one of her captors. He opened the cage to rape her and she attacked him.” 

“How extensive are her injuries?” Brienne asked with genuine concern for the younger Stark. 

“I didn’t see her myself,” Tyrion clarified, “the men say it was a minor wound to her side, that she got while thinning out the kidnapper’s ranks. They seem to believe it wouldn’t have been serious if she hadn’t kept fighting.” 

Arya was cut with a sword! How could that not be serious? “What are you saying?”

Brienne spoke. “It’s not uncommon, your Grace. If Arya had a small injury, but kept fighting, it could have easily opened further.”

The Hand agreed. “That is what the men say.”

“They’re all alive?” Brienne asked. 

Since Arya was taken, Daenerys rarely thought about the men. She’d come for them, they were her priority until Arya was taken. After that, Dany would have let them all rot, if that’s what it took to save the woman she loved. She knew that made her not only a horrible person but a dreadful Queen. It’s why she hadn’t voiced that particular truth to anyone, not even Missandei. 

“One of the captains didn’t make it,” Tyrion informed them. “A few of the others have injuries but none are life-threatening.” 

The relief on Brienne’s face reminded Daenerys that Sansa’s protector not only knew Arya but likely all the men who’d been taken. 

“Where are they?” Brienne’s question was one Daenerys hadn’t thought of. With the exception of the man they’d seen in the yard, they hadn’t encountered any of the others. 

“Eating, sleeping and bathing,” Tyrion said with a smile, “not necessarily in that order.” 

The sound of a door opening ended the discussion. Sansa came out first with Sam in tow. He was comfortable in the Northern Queen’s company, but he tensed when he noticed he had an audience.

“How is she?” Tyrion asked, after Daenerys failed to get the words out. 

“She lost a lot of blood,” Sansa replied. “Sam sewed her up and gave her a tonic to fight the infection.”

Daenerys sought out the shy Maester’s eye. She hoped he could see her gratitude. She owed him another debt she’d never be able to repay. 

She had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could speak. “She’ll be okay then?”

“Provided the infection doesn’t spread, yes,” Sansa confirmed. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

“Uh…yeah…yes… I think she’ll recover. She just needs rest and water… lots of water.” 

He was visibly uneasy, so Sansa released him. “Thank you, Sam, for everything. Why don’t you go see Gilly and Little Sam, we’ll send for you if there is any change.”

“Can I see her?” Daenerys asked Sansa, hoping Arya’s sister wouldn’t refuse her. 

“Of course.” 

“Daenerys,” Illyrio said from her back. “We have business to discuss. The ransom payment may not be necessary but there is still Stanley.” 

“Stanley?”

Brienne clarified for Sansa. “Stanley is the man who hired the courier to leave the ransom letter.”

“Why?”

“That’s unclear m’lady,” Brienne admitted. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Daenerys said a little too harshly. “You didn’t want me travelling in the dark, now I won’t be. Whatever business requires my attention can wait until after I’ve spent some time with Arya.” 

Only the Magister was willing to object. “Daenerys, this is more important than one woman. You must…”

She mustn’t do anything. “You serve me, not the other way around!” she responded hotly. “If you no longer wish to serve as my Master of Coin you can take your men and your gold and return to White Harbor.” 

She counted the seconds until he surrendered. One…two…three. “Apologies, your Grace, I only wished to offer my advice.” 

She didn’t have the energy to deal with this. Arya was waiting. “Join me,” she said to Sansa. 

The room felt smaller than it was with Arya lying on a bed in the center. She looked horrible and beautiful. Her hair was wild, pointing in every direction at once. Flesh that had been tanned building an orphanage in the South looked paler than she’d ever seen it. Her thin lips, the ones she kissed so often were cracked and white. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought Arya was sleeping. A blanket and the accompanying fur were pulled up over her body, hiding most of her scars. A handful remained visible though and Daenerys traced them with her stare. 

A sob worked its way to the surface and slipped out, sounding strangled. With it tears burned behind her eyes. A firm tug on her hand had Daenerys turning. Sansa engulfed her in a tight hug. Daenerys felt no shame as she squeezed back. If anyone understood it would be Sansa. Like Daenerys, she was a Queen, she loved Arya and needed her. “It’s going to be okay,” the taller woman whispered. “Arya’s strong, she’ll come back to us.” Daenerys wanted to trust in that more than anything.

R-C

She sat in a chair next to the bed and waited for Arya to wake. Sansa had gone to check on the men, leaving Daenerys and her lover alone. More than once she opened her mouth to talk, to say all the things she’d been yearning to for days, but the words wouldn’t come. She was afraid to touch her, not wanting to cause additional pain. 

She thought back to her conversation with Sansa. “Do you know about the scars?” she asked Daenerys. They sat on opposite sides of the bed, whispering over Arya as she slept. 

“Yes.”

Sansa blushed to match her hair. “I didn’t know she had so many. When Sam removed her clothes, I was stunned.” 

She remembered the first time she’d seen them all too. “So was I, at the beginning.” 

“Do you know how she got them?”

That was a complicated question. She thought she knew. She’d heard of the Water Dance and had spent enough time around warriors to recognize a mark left by a sword, but Arya had never explicitly said. “She told me she got some in Braavos.”

Sansa’s expression led Daenerys to believe she knew more about Arya’s time in the Titan City than Daenerys did. “She’s strong,” Daenerys said, feeling confident in her assessment. 

“She’d have to be to survive what she had.” 

They slipped into a stretch of quiet then. Daenerys watched the rise and fall of Arya’s chest and recalled how soothing it was to feel each beat under her ear. Sansa stood and excused herself at some point after that, leaving Daenerys and Arya alone. 

Missandei was a blessing, arriving with a hug and reassurance when Dany needed them most. She brought warm, dry clothes, a hot meal and refreshing water but it was hard to appreciate any of it while Arya lay unmoving. 

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys whispered, practicing for when Arya could actually hear her. “I’m still as impatient as ever and I was embarrassed that you never told me who you were.” She paused to collect her thoughts. The argument that pulled them apart seemed so stupid now. What did it matter if Arya didn’t tell her she was a Stark? It shouldn’t have changed anything. It was akin to how she behaved the morning after in the tavern. When she learned Arya knew she was Queen, she snapped at her rudely, embarrassed that she’d been discovered. Over time, she came to realize Arya’s knowledge didn’t sully the night they shared. Arya’s words from that morning danced in her mind. ‘The important parts were true’, she’d said. She’d forgiven Dany for keeping her secret, now Arya needed the same kindness. “The important parts were true,” she said, echoing her memory. “I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.” 

She ached to touch her lover and couldn’t hold back any longer. Carefully she leaned forward and picked up the nearest hand. It felt foreign, limp and cold, so unlike Arya. 

How long she sat there, she couldn’t say. Eventually the day caught up with her. She yawned and slouched, resting her head back on the top of the chair’s padded back. Before she closed her eyes, Arya was the last thing she saw. Dany fell asleep smiling. 

R-C

“Please wake up,” she pleaded quietly in the early morning hours. “There is so much I need to say to you.” Her attempt to sleep had been short and restless. Dreams of a happy, recovered Arya were quickly replaced by nightmares worse than their current reality. Unwilling to risk dosing off again she tapped her toes on the floor, chewed the inside of her cheek and pinched the soft skin of her inner arm to stay awake. 

Dark hair hung dangerously close to one of Arya’s eyes. Wanting there to be nothing obstructing her view when they finally opened, Daenerys reached out and brushed the strand away. She’d been with Arya for hours waiting for any sign she was on her way back to them. Had she known that brushing her hair would have caused the reaction it did, she would have done it sooner. 

Daenerys’s heart nearly stopped when she felt something grab her wrist. Her eyes bulged and she could only stare at her hand, hanging there above Arya’s face. Her free hand raised up to cover her mouth, trying to stuff the panicked shriek back in. Arya’s hold wasn’t as strong and unyielding as it typically was, but Daenerys did note, she wasn’t as weak as a woman near-death either. 

“A…Arya,” she stammered as she tried to steady her breathing. “Can you hear me?”

“Dany,” she croaked, her voice hoarse. Her eyes opened slowly but appeared clouded. She blinked several times and the Queen waited anxiously for some recognition. 

The hand that had been holding her wrist fell back to the bed, leaving Daenerys missing the contact immediately. The act of lowering her arm was enough to contort her face in pain. “Be careful,” Daenerys urged, “you were hurt.” 

She didn’t know what to do. Should she call for Sansa? Should she summon the Maester? Arya was awake and Daenerys was thrilled and concerned in equal measure. She didn’t have the skills to assess her health, nor was she ready to share Arya with the world. She’d waited a long time for this. She wanted to greedily horde the moment for as long as she could. 

“I re…” she coughed hard to clear her throat and groaned as she laid both her hands over her wound to brace it against the rumbling. Daenerys’s hands reached for her but she wasn’t sure where to touch to avoid making things worse. She gingerly held her around the shoulders, helping her sit up and clear her airway. “I remember.”

Arya remembering had to be a good thing, right? It would make things easier. Neither woman said anything. Dany was busy trying to memorize every detail and Arya’s attention was on shifting positions. Her normally graceful, purposeful movements were jagged and uncoordinated. Before succeeding in altering her pose Arya abruptly gave up, hissing through clenched teeth. 

Daenerys jumped up from the chair in a feeble attempt to help until it dawned on her that she didn’t know how. Her inability to ease Arya’s suffering was becoming a pattern. She needed to find someone who could be of use. “Stay still,” she directed, “I’ll summon Sansa and the Maester.”

Arya’s hand gripped her wrist, just as she’d done when Daenerys tried to touch her hair. “Don’t,” she said weakly. 

Don’t what? She leaned closer in hopes of making it easier for Arya to converse with her. “What? Is something wrong?” 

She watched Arya’s throat bob as she swallowed. “N…not yet,” she responded. Daenerys could tell she was actively trying to speak louder and clearer, it worked. “Just us.” 

It was wrong how pleased she was by those words. Sansa was as worried about Arya as Dany was. She deserved to know her sister was awake. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to go against Arya’s wishes, especially since they matched Daenerys’s own so closely. “Just a few minutes,” she bargained, “then you need to get checked out by the Maester.”

Arya’s eyes closed and Daenerys thought she’d drifted off to sleep. She was just about to settle back into her chair and wait for her to wake again when her grey eyes opened. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was rough but unmistakable. 

She didn’t understand at first. Was Arya apologizing because she wanted to spend time with Daenerys alone? That was hardly something she needed to be stressing over. “Just rest,” she said gently. “Everything is going to be okay.” It really felt like it was. Arya was back and she was awake. Those were two massive steps in the right direction as far as Daenerys was concerned. 

While she watched Arya was taking great pains to remain awake and focused. Daenerys didn’t realize why until she said, “I sh…should have told you who… I was.”

Now was definitely not the proper time for this. It was odd, she’d wanted to have this conversation with Arya for days, and now that the opportunity presented itself, she was actively trying to avoid it. “We’ll talk later,” she promised, touching Arya’s face. This time she didn’t meet any resistance. She moved that pesky hair away from her eye and skimmed her fingers down her cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” she repeated. 

Apparently, Arya was determined to say what was on her mind. “I thought you’d… me.”

Not even listening as intently as she was could make her catch every word. She knew instinctively she had missed the most relevant one. Without it she couldn’t comprehend the message. “What sweetheart?”

Arya’s eyes closed and stayed that way for a few seconds. She hadn’t opened them again when Daenerys heard her say, “I thought you’d hate me.”

Hearing the whole sentence didn’t change much. How could Arya think Dany would hate her? They had a fight, and Daenerys was unhappy, but even at her worst, she’d never come within miles of hating Arya. It was impossible. “I could never hate you.” Daenerys assured her, moving her hand down her cheek again in a loving gesture. 

“If… you kn…ew.”

Keeping up was difficult. Did Arya think her being a Stark would make Daenerys hate her? It was common knowledge that Jon and Sansa were Daenerys’s allies, so why the secrecy? “I don’t care that you’re a Stark Arya,” she swore, “I promise. Just rest now and we’ll talk about it when you wake up.” 

The longer the conversation went on, the harder it was to ignore how tiring it was for Arya. Every blink seemed unnaturally long, and each phrase seemed to suck more of her limited energy. 

She thought Arya was going to do as she was told for once. She should have known better. Even suffering from blood loss, she was still as stubborn as anyone Daenerys had ever known. “… not Stark,” Arya wheezed, beginning her statement in the middle. While Daenerys was wondering what she’d missed, Arya continued saying, “…a Faceless Man.” 

She was asleep before Daenerys could craft a response and that was probably for the best. She had no idea what she’d say. She wanted to reject the idea immediately as the wild ravings of a woman who wasn’t thinking clearly. It would have been easier, but it wouldn’t have been honest. 

She lowered herself into the chair and tried to process what she heard. The Faceless Men were infamous on both sides of the sea. They were as legendary as the White Walkers and just as real. Stories about them flowed from tavern to whorehouse to castle, growing more outlandish every step of the way. She’d heard plenty of rumors but never knew how much to truly believe. The tales were always several steps removed, a man who knew someone, who knew someone who hired a Faceless Man, or a person whose brother’s friend’s cousin had met one. Daenerys never had need of their services herself, aware she couldn’t afford to hire one even if she did. 

She searched what she knew about Arya for something, anything that would disprove what she was beginning to suspect. Why would a Faceless Man be in Westeros and living in the Kingswood of all places? They were known for not only their prowess but their price. If Arya was truly a member of the order, why was she living like a vagrant? Suddenly Arya’s ability to purchase Daenerys’s necklace made a bit more sense, although it wasn’t conclusive. 

How could Arya Stark of Winterfell end up a Faceless Man? Every detail she knew about Arya’s life had to be viewed in a new light. To her dismay the pieces fit. Arya’s confession about her father’s execution for one, she said she’d gone to Braavos afterward, to learn how to control her hate. Dany thought she meant to perfect the Water Dance but perhaps that wasn’t it at all. Had she gone to become an assassin? She said she’d fought in the wars, but why would a Faceless Man fight for free? Did Sansa know what her sister was? Why was she in King’s Landing? Had she been there to kill someone? Daenerys didn’t recall anybody being assassinated in recent months, but if the legends about the Faceless Men were accurate, she wasn’t certain she’d know if one was responsible. They were said to be as skilled at concealing their crimes as they were at committing them. 

From the night she met Arya she had no shortage of questions about her. That was equally true now. The newest on her growing list kept her mind spinning until she gave in to exhaustion. 

R-C

When she woke the sun was coming through the window, shining on her face. She wasn’t entirely convinced her memories from the night before weren’t an elaborate dream. Arya being an assassin seemed like just the kind of thing her sleep-deprived brain would conjure up. 

She expected to find Arya unconscious, instead she was awake and watching Daenerys with two intense, grey eyes. “Good morning,” Arya said softly. 

“You’re awake!” she said, springing to her feet. “Are you hurt? How bad is the pain? Have you seen the Maester? I can…”

“Relax Dany,” Arya said. “I’m fine. The wound wasn’t that deep, I’ll be back up again in no time.” 

She was sure her skepticism showed on her face. “Do you have secret training as a healer as well?” she spat before she could censor herself. Arya’s relaxed expression vanished, and Daenerys was immediately repentant. “I’m sorry, that was unfair of me.”

“No, it really wasn’t,” Arya disagreed. “I deserved it.” 

It would have been impossible not to notice the marked improvement in Arya from the night before. She was more alert, she didn’t seem to be in as much pain and her words were louder and easier to understand. 

She was still listing the changes she could see and hear while Arya kept talking. “I should have told you who I was, what I was, from the start but I was afraid. I’m sorry Dany.” 

That made Daenerys stand a little bit straighter. In all the time she spent with Arya she never once heard her say she was frightened of anything. Their brief conversation from the night before started a lot like this, didn’t it? Rather than dwell on it, she realized she hadn’t apologized yet. “I’m sorry too. I was embarrassed when I found out who you were and I didn’t handle it well,” she said, understating her poor behavior. 

“I deserved worse,” Arya said, struggling to sit up. 

Daenerys’s hands supported her. “What are you doing?!” she cried. “You’re going to tear your stitches.” She tried to guide Arya back to the pillow as gently as she could. 

Under her touch Arya shook, not stopping even as she was wincing in pain. “I need to say this,” she insisted. “I’m sorry.”

“Arya this can wait.” 

“We’ve waited long enough,” she countered. “I was afraid to tell you why I went to Braavos and what I did there, because I was certain you’d never want to see me again.” 

Daenerys once thought there was nothing Arya could say that would make her hate the Northern woman. At the time she didn’t know the depth of her confession, but her opinion hadn’t changed. It would be hypocritical for Daenerys to take offense because Arya killed people. How many lives had she taken, or ordered taken? On the bed, her lover was growing agitated, her attractive face tight with discomfort. Their dueling apologies could wait until Arya could speak without pain. “Maybe now isn’t the best…”

“Now’s the only time!” Arya shouted. She tried again to sit up and pushed right past Daenerys’s tentative hold. She ground her teeth together and pushed out her message. “If you hate me when you know the truth, I’ll go, and stay gone but…”

Oh, how had this gotten so out of hand? She didn’t hate Arya, she just didn’t want her to injure herself needlessly. “That’s not what I meant,” she corrected, “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

“I’m fine.”

Daenerys didn’t believe that for a second. She looked better but was a long way from fully healed. “You don’t look fine,” she said truthfully. 

Arya chuckled and then groaned as she pressed her left hand against the bandage on her side. “You don’t like how I look Dany?” she joked. Daenerys was smiling until Arya realized her alleged misstep and retreated. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have…”

No! She didn’t want Arya to be afraid to joke or smile. She wanted the Arya she’d met and known, the one she’d fallen in love with. She scoured her mind for some way to get them back to the way they used to be. She decided on brutal honesty. “You’re beautiful, same as always,” the Queen promised, “but I’m hardly the most objective judge. Lay back and I’ll send for the Maester. Once he assures me you won’t make things worse by moving, I’ll help you sit up a little.” 

“I told you…” Arya started. 

“I know, you’re fine, but I’d like to hear it from the trained professional.” They were in a stand off, familiar territory for them. “I am sorry for how I acted,” Daenerys admitted in a quiet, sincere tone. 

“Me too,” Arya said mirroring Daenerys’s expression of regret. 

“You could have told me, you know.” 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Arya justified as they both went back in their minds. “That first night, the next morning, it didn’t seem important.”

“Not then, but after,” Daenerys pressed. She really had been willing to postpone this heart to heart, but they were in it now and they needed to see it through if they were going to have any hope for the future. 

“Being a Stark is forgivable,” Arya said while looking deeply into Daenerys’s eyes, “a Faceless Man, less so.” 

She’d thought she was prepared to hear it. She’d obsessed over it after Arya fell asleep. She’d analyzed it, dissected it and imagined the moment, somehow it still took her breath away. “It’s true then?” She couldn’t explain why, but she needed to verify. 

Arya ignored their bargain and tried again to sit up. When Daenerys reached to provide support, Arya caught one of her hands. She wound their fingers together. Once she had Daenerys’s hand, she gave up moving and settled. “I’ve got no more secrets from you Dany,” she said fiercely. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she offered, her thumb rubbing across Daenerys’s knuckles. 

There was a lot she needed to know, but Arya’s health came first. “First, I’ll find Sam and your sister. Sansa’s been worried sick. Once they’ve checked you over, then we can finish this.

Arya was resigned to her fate. “Whatever you want, Dany.” 

R-C

Daenerys foolishly thought nothing could surprise her anymore. Arya proved her wrong near-constantly as she recounted how she’d gone from a Northern Princess, to an orphaned girl in King’s Landing, from a Faceless Man in Braavos, to a snake-fighter in a Southern tavern. 

True to her word, Arya answered every question without exception. Sam gave Arya his approval to sit up, but insisted she remain in bed, a detail which Daenerys’s lover vehemently opposed. If anyone asked, she stayed close to ensure Arya didn’t disobey Sam’s instructions, but truthfully, she just wasn’t ready to let Arya out of her sight. 

Daenerys had never seen Sansa as relieved as when she walked in to find her sister awake and talking. She felt guilty not telling Sansa immediately but her selfish act was for the best. Sansa fretted over Arya even more than Daenerys did. If she’d seen Arya when she first woke, mumbling weakly, barely able to keep her eyes open, it would have unsettled more than helped. At least that was the excuse Daenerys was telling herself. 

“Why did you leave Braavos?” she asked on the third day of the inquiry. Daenerys rarely left Arya’s side, even though her lover spent more time sleeping than talking. When she was awake, they divided their time fairly evenly between Arya’s past and casual, meaningless conversation. Arya may have agreed to answer all her questions, but Daenerys still didn’t want to rush her. If things went as she hoped, she and Arya would have plenty of time. 

Arya had just returned from a two-hour nap, her second of the day. Sam assured them it was normal while recovering to need extra rest, but Daenerys remained anxious. “I’d learned all Jaqen could teach me. I was ready.” 

Daenerys didn’t need to ask what she was ready for, she knew. Arya had been forthcoming about her motivations for going to Braavos, and for mastering her craft the way she did. She wanted revenge. Given all that had happened to her, Daenerys couldn’t blame her. 

“They just let you leave?” It seemed unlikely that a secretive order of assassins let their members come and go freely. Still, Arya was with her in Westeros, proof escape was possible. 

“Jaqen tried to have me killed,” Arya confessed casually. “He sent someone to murder me.” 

Despite Arya’s calm, Daenerys felt rage. She’d heard plenty about this Jaqen. She knew Arya saved his life and in return he killed for her. She also knew it was Jaqen who trained Arya at the temple. Up until that moment, she’d been grateful to him for helping Arya when she needed it, now those feelings were replaced by a desire to see his head on a spike outside her window every morning. “What!? I thought he was your friend!”

“He was, or is, I’m not really sure. It doesn’t matter. His assassin failed and I left,” Arya summarized. 

“So, you’re not going back?” She held her breath while she waited for confirmation. 

Arya reached out and took her hand. Daenerys noted she didn’t seem hurt by the movement. She was either healing quickly or doing a better job of hiding her pain. “I wouldn’t, even if I could.” 

Well that was something. At least Arya didn’t plan to return to the people who tried to have her killed. “Good,” she retorted childishly, squeezing Arya’s hand for emphasis. 

“Why didn’t you tell Sansa you were alive? Or Jon for that matter?” While Arya was captive Daenerys got to know Sansa a lot better. She spoke of Arya’s close bond to their brother Jon and although she didn’t doubt Sansa’s recollection, it did make her wonder why she hid from the brother she loved. 

“For the same reason I didn’t tell you,” Arya answered in a low, even voice. “I didn’t think they’d understand. They love the sister they remembered, not the woman I am. I thought it was better to let them keep their fond memories.” 

“Do you regret telling Sansa the truth?”

“Not yet,” Arya replied, showing a brief smile. 

“Yet?”

“She’s been taking it easy on me since I woke up,” Arya explained. “That won’t last forever. She’s going to want to talk eventually.” 

A thought occurred to her. “How did you stand beside Jon and he not know who you were?” The night before she told Daenerys about being at the Northern King’s side when he died. 

“Do you truly not know?”

“Know what?” 

“The Faceless Men are favored by the Many Faced God,” she said in a practiced way. “He allows us to change our faces so we can fulfill His wishes.” 

Once in Essos Daenerys had heard a man claim he witnessed someone change his face. She hadn’t realized he was talking about an assassin, she thought he was too drunk to see clearly. “Change your face… you don’t mean…” It was too ridiculous to even ask. 

Instead of reassuring her with words Arya released her hand and laid her palm over her cheek. Daenerys wasn’t sure what to expect. She had raised dragons, seen the Wall, and waged war with White Walkers, the world was a mysterious place. That said, she wasn’t sure if what Arya was suggesting was possible. 

Arya turned her head slightly, hiding her face against her shoulder until her hand fell away. What Daenerys saw was almost unbelievable. In the same bed where Arya had been, wearing the same clothes was someone else. She closed her eyes tightly and then opened them wide in an attempt to right the vision. The longer she stared the less sense it made. Arya’s body remained the same, but in place of the face Daenerys had grown to love were a different set of features. Gone was the dark hair, replaced by a longer mane several shades lighter. Arya’s new nose was larger, and pointed, her lips fuller and more red than pink. “Believe me now?” the stranger’s mouth asked in Arya’s voice. 

It took time to compose a reply and when she did, it was far from articulate. “H… how?” 

The woman on the bed shrugged. How many times had she seen Arya shrug her shoulders like that? It was startling, so similar and so different. It was no trick. It was real, she could feel it in her bones even if her eyes couldn’t be trusted. 

Daenerys held her breath when Arya’s hand went to cover her face again. She tried to see what exactly she was doing to change herself, but the Queen couldn’t make out much. As far as she could tell, Arya was just dragging her hand over her face slowly, starting above her eye and working her way to the opposite corner of her chin. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was scratching an itch or wiping away dirt. 

She exhaled when Arya looked like Arya. “Wow,” she said dumbly. What else could she say? “I don’t even know where to begin.” 

“Will this face do?” Arya teased, flashing her a smile. “Maybe I should have changed before I introduced myself.” 

She was sure she’d have questions to ask about Arya’s ability at some point, but not now. She needed time to think. She sensed Arya’s nervousness and tried to set her at ease. “As I recall, your face was sufficiently appealing. That is the real you, isn’t it?” she verified, only half serious. 

“This one is me,” she said, visibly pleased by Daenerys’s willingness to joke. 

“Good, because I’m fond of those eyes, and those lips,” Daenerys said leaning out of her chair to put her mouth within Arya’s reach. 

“Is that so?” Arya teased with their lips nearly touching. 

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “I’ll prove it.” With one hand on the bed for support she erased the gap between them. They shared a long, deep kiss. 

R-C

She put off leaving Arya for as long as she could. Loathe as she was to admit it, there were some loose ends to tie up. With Missandei’s help she was made to look presentable.

Jorah rushed to her side when he saw her coming down the staircase. “How are you? I…”

She cut him off. “I’m fine, Ser, thank you.” She said it loudly, hoping to stop the others from asking. There was only so many times she could be expected to lie convincingly. 

“How is she?” Tyrion asked. 

She smiled slightly at her Hand. “She’s improving. She wakes for a little longer each time, and she is clearer in the head, I think.” 

“The Maester says she’ll be back to her old self soon,” Missandei added, filling in what Daenerys left out. 

Illyrio stepped toward her and surprised everyone by hugging the Queen. “I’m glad you’re here, my dear. We have much to discuss. This business with Stanley needs to be settled.” 

She agreed with the Magister. Stanley had kidnapped Arya and dozens of others. He had to answer for his crimes. “Where are Sansa and Brienne? They should be here for this.”

Grey Worm went to find them. While they waited, she strived to catch up. “What did I miss?”

“Very little,” Tyrion assured her. “The freed men have all been reunited with their families.” Daenerys smiled at this. She knew how they must feel, having their loved ones returned after fearing the worst. “Those with injuries are healing well,” he added. 

“Three patrols have gone out since and none have met with difficulties,” Illyrio noted. 

More good news. “That’s great, perhaps Stanley and his sell-swords have given up.”

“It’s possible,” Jorah allowed, “but it’s just as likely they are regrouping. If it were me, I’d wait until the Unsullied returned South and then resume the attacks.”

“That won’t happen,” Daenerys declared passionately. “We won’t be leaving Winterfell until the threat to Sansa is removed, permanently.” 

“Every day we wait is another the sell-swords can abandon the farm and move on.”

She nodded to show she understood and then addressed the Magister. “What of the gold?” 

“With your permission, I’ll send it South to stock the royal treasury,” he replied. His smile was wide. He seemed beyond pleased with the turn of events. He bent the knee, got his position as Master of the Coins and didn’t need to spend his gold because Arya escaped. 

“Very well,” she agreed. “A third of the Unsullied can accompany it.” She found Tyrion, “Send word to Varys and have him send some Blood Riders North. They can meet the gold on the road and escort it the remainder of the way.” 

“It’ll take a few days to arrange,” Illyrio foretold. “I’ll begin preparations right away.” 

Sansa arrived with Brienne and Podrick. “Apologies for keeping you waiting, your Grace.” 

“Nonsense.” She smiled and dismissed the formality with a wave of her hand. “Arya was growing tired of me fussing over her, so she sent me to work.” She chuckled. “In truth I think she sent me away, so she could get out of bed without witnesses.” 

“I have no difficulty believing that. Mother used to say giving birth was easier than forcing Arya to do anything she didn’t want to.” 

The women laughed. Daenerys noted Tyrion watching his former wife with an honest smile on his face. “A wise woman indeed.” 

“We need to decide what to do about Stanley,” Jorah said, ending the light moment. 

“Arya said he knew your brother Jon,” Tyrion said carefully, mindful of the fact that Jon might be a difficult subject for Sansa. 

She nodded stiffly. All the humor was gone from her eyes. She was as cold as the Wall. “He was a friend of Ramsay’s, going back years, I think. He came along when Ramsay took Winterfell.” 

“What do you know of him?” Illyrio inquired. 

“He wasn’t as cruel as Ramsay,” Sansa said after a thoughtful moment, “but he was desperate to earn his approval. He was only mean to me when Ramsay was there to see it. It was like he was trying to impress him.” 

Daenerys was disgusted, Missandei too. Tyrion looked furious on Sansa’s behalf. “Do you know what became of him?” she asked kindly. 

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I thought he died in the battle. He didn’t retreat with Ramsay and he wasn’t captured when Jon and the Wildlings battered down the gate.” 

In an effort to spare Sansa the pain of discussing it, she summarized what they knew. “Arya said Stanley was promised a title when Ramsay controlled the North. He blamed Sansa when it didn’t come to pass.” 

“Why her?” Illyrio asked. “Her brother was the one who defeated the Bolton.” 

“Actually, Ramsay would have won that day, if Sansa hadn’t called on the Knights of the Vale to join their side,” Tyrion remarked. Sansa gave him a smile and the Lannister appeared almost bashful in turn. 

“Still, why blame the girl?” 

“Jon’s dead,” Sansa told the Magister. “He can’t punish him, so I guess I am all that’s left.” 

Sansa sounded sad and Tyrion leapt to her defense, putting a hand on her arm. “That’s not true,” he said without specifying which part he meant. “You’re a Queen, it makes sense he’d challenge you.” 

“It’s more than that,” Daenerys announced. “According to what he told Arya, he blames you for escaping Ramsay and going North to get Jon. He thinks if you hadn’t fled, he’d be Lord Stanley now.” 

“Why tell Arya any of that?” Illyrio wondered. “It’s quite a risk, don’t you think?” He was growing more agitated the longer the conversation went on. 

“Why not tell her?” Jorah opposed. “He was going to kill her.” 

Daenerys did everything in her power to force away the idea of Arya being killed. They were finally together again, she didn’t want to think about losing her. 

“Was he? He was going to ransom her back, so why tell her anything?”

She recognized the look on Tyrion’s face, it was the one he wore when he was trying to make incompatible pieces fit together.

“That’s not important now. We don’t need to understand him, just find him!” she ruled with finality. 

The back and forth of the debate stopped. “Of course, your Grace,” Illyrio said. Tyrion agreed with a look and Jorah averted his eyes. 

Grey Worm stepped up to draw her attention from the others. “The Unsullied are ready.” 

That was what she wanted to hear. “Go to the farm, if they are there, bring them in. If not, find some hint as to where they’ve gone.” 

Next to her Missandei tensed in response to the order and Daenerys empathized. If it was Arya riding toward a kidnapper and his band of sell-swords she’d be worried too. “Grey Worm,” she cautioned before he got too far away, “be careful.” 

He left, but not without looking to Missandei one final time. No one spoke for a moment. “It’s been days since the hostages escaped,” Illyrio pointed out, “Stanley and his men likely moved on already.” 

True as that might be, Daenerys didn’t feel any self-doubt creeping in. She made the right choice, choosing Arya over this business with Stanley. She didn’t regret a single second she spent at Arya’s side, even if that was time Stanley used to flee. 

“What shall we do in the meantime?” She could tell by his tone that Illyrio had something in mind. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. 

“I trust you boys will think of something,” Daenerys replied. “I’m going to make sure Arya isn’t dangling out the window by the curtain in an attempt to get fresh air.” 

R-C

Arya sat in the bed, wishing she could be somewhere else. It wasn’t Sansa’s company that unnerved her, just the four, familiar walls. She hated being cooped up. 

“So, you and Daenerys have made up?” It wasn’t a question in the truest sense, Sansa already knew the answer. 

If anyone told her there would come a day when she would discuss her romantic life with her sister, she would have sent them to the nearest Maester to have their head examined. 

“Seems so,” Arya replied. She was intentionally cryptic because she knew it would annoy Sansa to no end. 

“She forgave you huh, for not telling her who you were? How did you make it up to her?”

Arya thought about it. She had been trying hard to make it up to Dany, but it was difficult while confined to her bed. It was rare when she was persuasive enough to tempt Dany to join her under the covers. When she did cuddle into Arya, she was always tentative, afraid of hurting her. For this reason, she strongly opposed all of Arya’s efforts to move them beyond light kissing. She could tell Dany wanted it as badly as she did, though the Dragon remained stubborn. “I didn’t really, not yet. I think getting kidnapped and almost dying allowed her to overlook my faults.” 

Sansa’s laugh reminded Arya of their mother’s. “Lucky you then.” 

She flashed her sister a smirk. “Lucky me.” 

After a moment Sansa’s expression turned serious. “Will you tell me what happened to you, after King’s Landing, after father…”

She was relieved she didn’t say the words. It was a fair request. She told Dany everything. It was only right that Sansa know too. Still, she worried about how the information might be received. Sansa was upset when she heard it was Arya who rid the world of the Freys. How angry would she be when she discovered Arya had returned to Winterfell several times and never exposed herself? 

“I saw the scars, I know it’s bad. You can tell me Arya, please,” she encouraged. 

She knew there was only one place to start, even if Sansa knew bits of it already. “I met a man named Jaqen. He was from Braavos, a Faceless Man.” 

“A what?” she asked, her face twisted in confusion. 

“The Faceless Men are assassins,” she stated plainly. “Favored by the God of Death they are given the ability to change their faces.” 

Sansa was studying her with disbelief. “Really?”

“Really?” she insisted. She knew Sansa too well to think she’d believe it without proof. Luckily for her, proof was something she could provide. She closed her eyes and focused as she removed Arya Stark’s face from her bones and replaced it with another. It was a woman, the same woman she’d been to mourn Jon with Sansa. 

“By the Gods,” Sansa breathed. Her eyes were wide, and she was momentarily frozen. When she could, she tried to put distance between them, scrambling away from her sister. Arya’s hands flashed out to keep her from falling off the edge of the bed. 

“It’s okay,” she said to calm her. She was tense in Arya’s hold but didn’t pull away or scream. 

One of her hands left Sansa and returned to her face. Sansa refused to blink, staring in wonder. She corrected her features and grit her teeth as the familiar pain radiated through her jaw. 

“How the fuck?” she asked, when Arya looked like herself. 

“Jaqen taught me to be a Faceless Man. It’s how I got the scars. Some I got training, others while fulfilling contracts, others still in battle. 

This had Sansa’s attention. “What battle?”

This was it, the moment of truth. “I lied when I let you believe I only returned to Winterfell just before Dany.” 

Sansa was becoming frustrated, trying to make sense of what was incomprehensible to her. “What? How?”

“No more secrets Sansa, I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I was trying to protect you, the way I was protecting Dany, but I learned my lesson, I won’t lie anymore.” She meant it too. The last time she discussed the past with Sansa she avoided the worst of it, this time she’d hold nothing back. 

Her vow worked. Sansa paused and chose her first question carefully. “What battle?” 

“I fought beside Jon North of the Wall,” she admitted quietly. “I was with him when he died. I tried to save him, I swear but I wasn’t fast enough. I…” She usually knew what to say, but not this time. How could she explain she was too ashamed of what she’d become to return to her family? How could she tell Sansa she was afraid they wouldn’t be able to accept her or love her after all she’d done? 

“How?” Sansa gasped. 

“I wore a different face. Jon would never have let me fight if he knew who I was.” It was the truth, yet the excuse sounded hollow. 

“You were there? How long? How?” The questions came fast, like she couldn’t decide what to learn first. 

“I went to Braavos. I stayed there for years. When I left the temple, I came back to Westeros. I was going to kill Cersei,” she admitted. “I was ready, all my training, it was all so I could avenge our family.” 

“What stopped you?”

She thought of Hot Pie. He’d inadvertently changed the course of her life. “I heard Jon retook Winterfell from Ramsay. I turned North as soon as I knew you two were alive.” 

“So, you weren’t there when Littlefinger,” she stopped and tried again, “when Ramsay?”

“I had no idea!” she said fiercely, praying to every God she knew that Sansa believed her. Even if she hated her for what she’d done, Arya couldn’t stand the thought of Sansa thinking she’d knowingly left her to Ramsay. “If I’d known, I would have come, I would have killed him,” she pledged. 

“When did you get here?” Sansa wondered, moving them past the horrors Ramsay inflicted on her. 

“A few days before Jon came back with Dany,” she recited. “I talked to you wearing the face of a soldier, I asked you about the army’s readiness.”

“I had no idea,” Sansa whispered. “I don’t remember that.” 

“I wouldn’t be a very good Faceless Man if you knew it was me,” she teased, trying to joke. 

Sansa didn’t budge. “Then what?” 

“Once I saw Jon, I left for a while.” 

“Why?!” she shouted, becoming angry for the first time. 

“It was too hard not to tell you the truth.”

Sansa stood up and glared at her. “It was hard for you? We thought you were dead Arya! We mourned you!” 

“I know,” she replied weakly. “I just couldn’t tell you what I’d done. Jon was preparing the army for war and you were keeping the Northern Lords from tearing each other to pieces. After Dany got here, you were both so busy all the time.”

“That’s no excuse Arya.” 

“I know,” she repeated, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t think you’d understand. I thought it was better for you to think me dead, than hate me for being a murderer.” 

“Is that when you and Daenerys started…” she trailed off as she had when she avoided mentioning their father’s execution. 

“No, that didn’t happen until later, a lot later.” 

“Okay,” Sansa decided, “keep going then.” 

She deserved every bit of Sansa’s outrage. She pushed ahead, owing it to her sister to finish. “When Jon died, I wore a new face and paid my respects. I spoke to you then too.” 

“Much of that time is a blur,” Sansa confessed. 

“I left Winterfell for the South not long after the Lords named you Queen.” 

“Why?” Sansa asked suddenly. 

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you stay here?” she clarified. “You said you weren’t with Daenerys, so you didn’t go for her, so why?”

“To kill Cersei. That’s why I’d done everything. I couldn’t stay here while Dany and her army took King’s Landing without me.” 

Sansa folded her arms over her chest. “You left me alone to get revenge?” she questioned bitterly.

“Yes,” she fired back. “Yes!” When Sansa flinched, Arya softened her tone as best she could. “I promised you the truth and that’s it. The sister you loved, the daughter our parents raised, she would have stayed in Winterfell for you. The person I became after they were gone, she needed to kill Cersei no matter what.”

“Did you,” Sansa asked after a delay, “kill Cersei I mean? Was it you who did it?” 

“Yes.” As she said that lone word, she relived the moment she rid the world of the Lion that ruined her life. 

R-C

Missandei and Daenerys were enjoying a few minutes alone. With everything going on it was rare for the friends to get the opportunity to relax. She hadn’t wanted to leave Arya but felt she owed Sansa the chance to speak to her sister without Daenerys listening in. 

“You haven’t told her yet?” the advisor asked incredulously. 

Though she knew her reason was weak, she felt obligated to get the words out anyway. “It hasn’t been the right time. She’s still healing.” 

“It isn’t going to get easier just because you wait,” Missandei promised with a smile. 

Daenerys was venturing into new territory. It was uncharted and terrifying. Who would have thought that admitting you loved someone could be so difficult? She couldn’t call on her past for help either. Grand expressions of love weren’t popular within the khalasar and even if they were, Daenerys was married to Drogo by the time she felt any love for him. It minimized the awkwardness.

Daario told her he loved her frequently, usually after sex and he never seemed to struggle saying the words. It made Daenerys wonder why she felt dizzy every time she considered revealing the truth to Arya. How would she respond? Would she say it back? Daenerys had once told Arya their relationship wasn’t serious, and the Northerner agreed, did she still feel that way? Given all the things Arya told her about her life in the recent days, Daenerys should have been confident that Arya cared for her, so why was she delaying? 

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Daenerys asked, hoping Missandei had some wise counsel that would ease her burden. 

“Then she’s a fool.” 

“Be careful how loudly you say that,” Daenerys joked, “Arya has excellent hearing.” 

The advisor was immediately repentant. She visibly recoiled, as if that would make her words travel a shorter distance somehow. She’d been stunned when Daenerys shared the truth about Arya’s history. The advisor spoke of the Faceless Men with reverence and respect. She claimed there wasn’t a slave in Essos who didn’t know about the order. According to the rumors Missandei had heard many Faceless Men sent Masters to their God for only a fraction of the price of a typical contract. Long before Daenerys became the Breaker of Chains, the Braavosi assassins had taken up the same cause. “You should tell her,” Missandei said in an exaggerated whisper that had Daenerys smiling. She didn’t believe it was a coincidence that her friend had avoided her lover since learning of her occupation. 

“I will, I just…” she stopped and tried to make her point a different way. “It’s not like I can just blurt it out,” she justified. “Hi Arya, I know you’re still recovering from nearly bleeding to death and you’re probably mad at me for trying to order you around, but you should probably know I love you.” 

She expected Missandei to laugh at her ridiculousness, but in place of her easy smile, she looked horrified. A hand covered her mouth. It took a few seconds for the Queen to realize Missandei wasn’t looking at her anymore. She turned to see what, or who was there. 

R-C

“I’m fine,” Arya insisted as Sam checked her pulse for the second time. She really didn’t think it had changed in the last six minutes. She knocked his hand away. “I’ve had worse, believe me.”

“Jon would want me to make sure,” he said. 

He’d come in right as Sansa left, as if he was waiting in the hall for the sisters to finish. She wanted to send him away, but she couldn’t. By invoking one of her dead brothers Arya felt compelled to tolerate his needless worrying. “Fine but make it quick.” 

Grinding her teeth together she counted the seconds until he was through. Wherever Jon was, he better appreciate the patience she was showing his friend. When it was over, Sam gave her his approval, telling her what she already knew. She was fine. He urged her to continue drinking lots of water to replace the fluids she lost but otherwise had little in the way of advice. 

She followed Sam out the door, daring him with her eyes to oppose her choice. She needed to move around, not only to stretch her aching muscles but because if she had to stare at the same walls for much longer someone was likely to die. She purposefully kept her hand away from her wound, aware that if Daenerys or Sansa saw her favoring it, they’d demand she return to bed. 

On her way to the stairs she passed two men she recognized. They’d been with her in the barn. Both nodded as she passed but she didn’t stop long enough for them to inquire about her health. 

Going down the staircase sapped more energy from her than she would ever admit but she made it to the bottom without stumbling and hadn’t needed to put undo weight on the railing to stay upright either. Daenerys was not going to be pleased when she saw Arya out of her room and walking. That alone was reason enough to continue. She chuckled when she imagined the Queen’s furious expression. Her chest shook with her light laugh and it worsened the pain. She instinctively reached to brace her side but stopped herself before her hand made contact with the bandage. She’d survived worse. 

As a girl she had plenty of practice scouring the castle’s many rooms for the one person she wanted to see. Whether it was chasing after Jon and Robb, avoiding Sansa or tracking down her father, she was an expert. Now she was becoming winded as she stuck her head into one room after another without success. 

She smiled when she heard Missandei’s voice. It was a safe bet that Daenerys was with her. If she wasn’t, the advisor would surely know where Arya should look next. She couldn’t make out the words being said but she proceeded down the hall until she could. 

“…tell her,” Missandei was saying just as Arya arrived at the door. The sitting room was empty except for the two women. Daenerys had her back to Arya but looked gorgeous all the same. Her hair was loose, laying like layers of silver down her back. The light blue dress she wore looked as if it was made for her, likely because it was. Arya couldn’t imagine anyone else appearing quite so beautiful and doing it so naturally. Her eyes lingered on the shape of Dany’s hips and the curve of her ass. If she got caught staring, she’d blame it on the fact that Dany had steadfastly denied all of Arya’s attempts to do anything more than kiss her. She didn’t know how much longer she could wait. Her willpower had its limitations. 

Dany speaking delayed Arya announcing her presence by a few extra seconds. “I will, I just…” she started to say, sounding frustrated. “It’s not like I can just blurt it out,” she whined adorably. “Hi Arya, I know you’re still recovering from nearly bleeding to death and you’re probably mad at me for trying to order you around, but you should probably know I love you.”

Was Arya dead or dreaming? Was she still in the cage in that barn or unconscious on the bed upstairs maybe? How else could she explain hearing Dany say that? She was an assassin, and Dany knew it. It didn’t seem possible that the Targaryen Queen, famous for her beauty would choose her. 

She’d known she loved Dany for a while. About the time Arya saw her wearing the pendant for the first time, it became impossible to deny. Luckily, she had practice controlling, and hiding her emotions. She never once thought about telling Dany. Her feelings were inconsequential. She already had enough on her shoulders, she didn’t need Arya’s unrequited love heaped on as well. Instead Arya committed herself to savoring every second she could with Dany and trying to make sure the Queen enjoyed them too. The depth of her affection was just one more secret she intended to carry until she met her God. 

Arya could do nothing more than stare until Dany turned. Their eyes met, and Dany looked horrified that she’d been caught. It only made her look more incredible in Arya’s estimation. “Arya I…”

Something about Dany’s panic made Arya want to laugh. It really was quite funny. Dany loved her. The rest was unimportant. “You should blurt it out,” she said, unable and unwilling to try and contain her smile. It was spanning her whole face. “Blurt it out, just like that.”

Not even the pain in her side, or her weariness mattered then. All she could think about was the fact that Dany loved her. It was more than Arya dared to wish for. “Arya…” Daenerys tried again.

Nothing beyond Dany existed. Not her injury, not Missandei who was in the room with them, not the Lannister or the knight, not Sansa or any of the countless people who were probably close enough to overhear. 

Arya went to her, pleased she could make the two steps without obvious discomfort. She took Dany’s hand in hers. The Targaryen misinterpreted the reason and hurried to support Arya’s weight. Rather than resist she took advantage of the closeness between her and the woman she loved. Two fingers under her chin tilted her head back gently and Arya gazed into her eyes. “I love you too, by the way,” she swore, just before she kissed her. 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I hope that lived up to people’s expectations. It’s a bit longer than usual but I didn’t want to cut it off before the best part. 
> 
> Thanks for reading
> 
> RC


	16. Chapter 16

After their talk, things were tense between the Stark sisters. When she asked what had her and Sansa at odds Arya replied cryptically that the Gods were punishing her for her choices. 

Winterfell was buzzing when Brienne escorted Podrick, Grey Worm and a contingent of Unsullied back inside the walls. Sansa and Daenerys had sent them to visit the farm and learn what they could. Both Queens agreed finding Stanley remained a priority even after most of the troops were returned in good health. 

Daenerys allowed Sansa to take the lead. “Is anyone hurt?” she asked, her concern for her people shining bright. 

“Only the sell-swords,” Brienne responded. 

Arya craned her neck to look around the large woman. Unsullied were still filing in. “You killed them all? What about Stanley?” 

Brienne gave Arya an apologetic look before her eyes settled on Sansa. “They’re all dead, but we didn’t kill them.” 

“What happened Brienne?” 

“We found the farm,” she explained, “just as the men described.” To Arya she added, “It was all there, the barn, the massive farm, a house near collapsed.” 

“Are you sure it was the right place? There is more than one farm in that area!” Arya protested. 

“I saw the cages” she confirmed, “in the barn were the bodies you told me about.”

“Stanley and the surviving sell-swords had moved on?” Jorah guessed, arriving late. 

“No,” Brienne corrected, “they were already dead.” 

Sansa gasped, and if Daenerys hadn’t been too busy worrying about Arya’s reaction, she might’ve too. Dead? How could that be? 

“Who killed them? They were experienced sell-swords. They may have been too lazy to guard the cages all the time, but they weren’t stupid. There is no way they wouldn’t be ready for a fight, not after everyone escaped.” 

“Arya calm down,” Sansa instructed. “Is it possibly Stanley killed his men to prevent their capture?”

Arya scoffed and rolled her eyes at the notion. “One man couldn’t kill them all.”

“You were going to try,” Sansa noted. “If you hadn’t been hurt, you would have sent the men back alone and gone after Stanley by yourself!” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation. Daenerys was pleased she wasn’t the only one bothered by Arya’s reckless disregard for her own safety. She watched the siblings with rapt attention. It was better than any play she’d ever seen. 

“True, but I’m not a man.” It was troubling how a few arrogantly spoken words could spark her passions so intently. Daenerys had to ball her hands into fists to keep from reaching for her lover and embarrassing them both. “How did you even…”

“The men told me what you planned before you ever woke up,” Sansa informed her. 

Neither Stark said anything further. Tyrion was brave enough to mediate the peace. “So, the kidnappers are dead?”

“It was a massacre,” Brienne said in a low, but clear voice. “Most never got their swords out.” 

“Was Stanley among them?” Daenerys asked. She wasn’t asking for herself, both Arya and Sansa would want to know, as soon as they stopped focusing on their personal disagreement. 

“A man fitting his description was among the dead.” 

“Who would kill them?” Jorah asked. 

“Does it matter, they’re dead,” her new Master of the Coins responded. “Lady Stark’s men are free, Arya is alive, the ransom wasn’t paid, and the criminals are dead.” 

She had to admit, it wasn’t the worst outcome she could imagine. “Relieved you won’t have to pay?” Jorah quipped at Illyrio sarcastically. 

“The gold is meaningless.” Daenerys wondered what it must be like to be so wealthy a million gold coins didn’t merit concern. “The money is already on its way to the treasury,” he said. “I trust our Queen can find a better use for it than a bunch of sell-swords.” 

The admission that Illyrio was going to refill the treasury was enough to silence Jorah’s complaints. Daenerys vaguely remembered Illyrio telling her he was sending the gold South, but she’d been thinking about Arya, and only paid him the briefest of attention.

“That is very generous,” she said truthfully. 

R-C

The sounds weren’t enough to compel her to look. Clashing steel was hardly new. If it wasn’t the Dothraki, it was the Unsullied. Her men were always training. When they weren’t, it was common to find them engaged in some sort of sport, usually involving their weapons. 

She intended to walk past until she heard a familiar chuckle. She’d recognize that anywhere. “Not bad,” Arya said, breathing heavily. “You’re faster with that spear than I thought you’d be, but with a sword you’re better.” 

Grey Worm replied. “You are never where I think you will be.” 

“Let’s go again,” Arya suggested. Even from a distance, Dany could hear her smile. Her mind imagined it perfectly. She had after all, spent more time than most admiring it. “Use your shield next time, I want to see if I can get around it.”

She was conflicted. It annoyed her that Arya was rushing her recovery. She should be resting, not putting herself at risk just because she grew bored. It was also true that Daenerys found it hard to disapprove of anything that brought Arya joy. In short, she wasn’t sure how to feel. 

Daenerys changed direction and went to the part of the yard the men preferred for sparring. A small crowd had formed, consisting of Stark soldiers and Unsullied in even numbers. One onlooker she hadn’t expected was standing off to one side, removed from the professional soldiers was Missandei. 

Daenerys reached her advisor just as Grey Worm’s sword cut a path through the air, on a direct route to Arya. She was about to order this nonsense stopped when Arya spun away. Grey Worm was stretched out a bit, as one might expect if your target wasn’t there to break your fall when you put your entire body behind a strike. Dany’s eyes were drawn to a blur of silver and she heard her commander curse in Valyrian, right before he shook out his right hand, sword and all. While Grey Worm gathered himself, Arya stood perfectly still. Her right hand was tucked behind her back and in her left, she clutched a razor-thin sword. 

Finally, Missandei was able to pull herself away from the action and address the Queen. “Your Grace, I’m so sorry, I was going to come and get you as soon as I saw what they were doing but I couldn’t look away.” 

Although she was pretty sure she knew the answer she asked anyway. “Are they sparring or fighting?”

“Sparring, your Grace,” Missandei said. “Arya claims she needs to work her lazy muscles and Grey Worm was more than willing to test his ability against a Water Dancer.” 

“Are either of them hurt?” Daenerys needed to know. 

She chuckled before responding. “I think they are having fun.” Daenerys didn’t doubt that. Arya had told her that training was the one thing in her life she enjoyed after her father was killed. Getting the opportunity to spar with someone as talented as Grey Worm would be a dream come true for Arya, she suspected. “I don’t know who to cheer for,” Missandei admitted in a whisper.

After a moment of quiet contemplation Daenerys could see the issue. Cheering for Grey Worm to win, would be like wanting Arya to lose. Doing so went against Missandei’s unwavering loyalty to Daenerys. If Daenerys wanted Arya to win, Missandei would too, except this time, Arya’s opponent was the man she loved. 

It was no better for Daenerys. Grey Worm was a friend, Missandei’s lover, and her most trusted commander. How could she openly cheer for Arya to beat him? How could she cheer for anyone but Arya?

She put a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Who is winning?”

“Grey Worm won the first match when Arya slipped. The second was a draw and then Arya won the third.” 

She’d seen the scars, watched as she dissected the matches at the tournament, and heard tales of her life in Braavos but there hadn’t been a time when Daenerys witnessed her skill, until now. She took a step back, wanting to hide herself from view, without obstructing her line of sight. 

Any hope Daenerys had that Arya had been too busy trying to kill her commander to notice her there vanished quickly. “Come to watch me beat your best soldier?” she asked. Her smile was even more impressive than the one Daenerys imagined. 

“Please be careful,” she said as softly as she could. She didn’t want to be a nag, but she didn’t want Arya to tear her stitches either. 

With a cocky smirk, Arya licked her lips and twirled the sword she was holding. “Don’t worry, I always fight better when pretty women are watching.” 

Missandei’s giggle did nothing to lessen her embarrassment. “Arya!” she chastised. She was ignored in favor of starting the next round. Grey Worm had his shield in one hand and a spear in the other. Arya’s hands were both behind her back, holding the long thin blade against her spine. “Where is your shield?”

They began circling one another. Grey Worm was keeping her at distance with the length of his spear and protecting himself by staying low behind the shield. Arya matched him step for step, ensuring she was always just out of reach, but she made no effort to ready her sword. “Left my shield in my other pants, your Grace,” Arya joked, looking away from Grey Worm long enough to meet Daenerys’s eye and wink. “Don’t worry, I won’t need it.” 

She was smiling at her lover’s antics until she saw Grey Worm take advantage of the situation. He planted his feet, squared his hips and then lunged at Arya’s middle, leading with the tip of his spear. Dany’s warning was too late and unnecessary. Somehow Arya knew the attack was coming. She gave Daenerys a smile before she twisted her entire body. Her left arm flashed out to deflect Grey Worm’s attempt, pushing his spear to the right while she went left. Was this the Water Dance? 

Daenerys was riveted. She could understand why Missandei hadn’t been able to leave. It was captivating. They were opposites, meeting again and again with no clear victor. A large part of her wanted to stop it, but she knew neither combatant would appreciate if she did. They wanted this, the both of them. She bit her tongue and watched Arya closely for any sign that her wound had reopened. She saw none. Her white shirt was clean and lacked the red stain Daenerys would expect if the stitches tore. Arya was becoming winded, panting the few times she stopped long enough for Daenerys to notice. 

She’d always known Grey Worm was a gifted soldier, he’d been groomed for it from the day he was purchased. He excelled, as if the role Kraznys forced upon him also happened to be what he was fated by the Gods to do. She’d never seen him tested so thoroughly. Over and over again Arya repelled his advances, while still challenging him. 

Arya was at a disadvantage. She didn’t have a shield, and his spear was substantially longer than her sword. It didn’t seem like a fair fight to her. What it did do however was give Daenerys a lesson in the Water Dance her lover had mastered. It was unique, unlike anything she’d seen in her travels. As far as Dany could tell, there were two Arya’s. There was the Arya who remained perfectly still, usually with her hands –and her sword—behind her back. That Arya stayed in place until Grey Worm attacked and then at the last moment would slip away. This second Arya revealed herself once she was finally moving. She twisted, she ducked, she dodged, she leaned, she parried, she kicked. This Arya was constantly in motion, a sharp contrast of the other. She didn’t stop until she fought off Grey Worm’s assault. When it was over, she’d go back to standing still, waiting for it all to begin anew. 

It was impossible not to think of the tavern and the snakes. Arya used the same quick, confident movements, and most telling, wore that same smug smirk. 

Arya’s speed was her only advantage and she used it well. She kept Grey Worm moving, forcing him to turn frequently to be in the position to fend off a potential attack, but the attack never came. She kept him moving from side to side, turning in circles, chasing after her. More than once he tried to skewer her with his spear, but she always managed to avoid it. Daenerys didn’t see the logic in Arya’s strategy until several minutes in when Grey Worm began to tire. When that happened, his shield dropped slightly, and he was just a little slower in his movements. If the widening of her smirk was any indication that was precisely what Arya knew would happen. 

Suddenly she was running, like an eruption of violent energy aimed directly at Grey Worm. She had him on his back foot, relying on his shield to fend off the series of hard, fast slashes she was making. It wasn’t one sided. He backed Arya off multiple times, but she wouldn’t be deterred. 

When Arya abruptly stopped moving Daenerys could tell something significant was going to happen. Grey Worm tried to seize control. He started with the spear, as he usually did. Rather than a sidestep, Arya gripped her sword with both hands and brought it against the underside of the spear. She pushed it and by extension the man holding it to the right. As he took the necessary step to maintain his balance Arya moved left. At first Daenerys thought she was putting space between them to catch her breath, she’d done that before, but Arya wasn’t content to retreat. She circled around him, trying to slip behind his back. Realizing her intent Grey Worm turned, bringing the shield and his body around fast. Arya was ready. It was only there for an instant, a small window between Grey Worm and his shield. It vanished when he adjusted the shield on his arm, tightening up his posture but that was enough. Arya’s sword struck. Grey Worm dropped his shield and raised his hand to his face to check for damage. “That was good,” he told Arya, without any malice. “You could have taken my hand if you wanted.” 

Arya nodded in confirmation. “When your opponent is doing the same thing again and again, be wary, there has to be a reason.” 

“Like waiting for me to get tired,” he realized.

“I thought I was going to pass out before you lowered that shield an inch,” Arya grumbled. Dany recognized the complaint for what it was, praise between warriors. Grey Worm understood too because he was smiling, even after having been beaten. 

She thought they would stop, given they both admitted being tired, but neither was ready for their lessons to end. Missandei and Daenerys watched in awe as the people they loved fought one another. After discarding his shield Grey Worm switched from his spear to his sword and bested Arya in the next round. 

The longer it went on, the more fascinated Daenerys became. There was a certain elegance to it. It was on full display as Arya danced, twisted and turned. That thin sword looked like a child’s toy, but in her hand, it was undeniably deadly. 

She couldn’t say when she stopped keeping score, but it was probably around the time she noticed the way the muscles in Arya’s back would flex when she swung her sword. Her left forearm was tanned, scarred and almost permanently rigid as she held the blade up to deflect or counter Grey Worm’s next attempt. She angled herself away from her opponent which inadvertently positioned it toward Daenerys. She was treated to an up-close view of Arya’s body as she pushed it to it’s limit against Grey Worm. Chewing on her bottom lip and playing with her pendant Daenerys engaged in a sport of her own. When she saw a group of Arya’s muscles flex, she tried to think of different, more intimate ways she could achieve the same result. She came up with quite a few interesting strategies. If Arya took her training this seriously, Daenerys should contribute. They’d likely have to spend hours in her chambers to ensure Arya remained in peak physical condition. It took all her self control not to run over and throw herself into Arya’s arms in front of everyone. 

In what was rapidly becoming her worst decision, she told Arya they couldn’t have sex until she was fully healed. It seemed logical and reasonable at the time but maintaining her resolve was getting harder every day. If Sam didn’t declare her healed soon, she’d need to go in search of a second opinion. 

The final match should have ended when they both lost their swords. Grey Worm’s landed in the dirt at their feet, Arya’s was closer to Daenerys than its owner. Neither one considered stopping. Grey Worm returned to the spear strapped to his back and Arya drew a small dagger off her belt. They met one final time and it was different from all the others. This time there was no dancing, no games, each one wanted to claim the final victory. Neither one did, or perhaps they both did, Dany wasn’t an expert on how to score such things. Arya had her dagger to Grey Worm’s throat in what would be a clear victory if not for the spear pressed against her heart. 

Missandei went to them with water, hoping to bribe them into taking a break. As soon as she was done gulping down her glass Arya’s eyes swept the yard looking for Daenerys. It was thrilling for the Queen to be the one she was searching for. There was no disputing Arya found what she wanted, her grey eyes landed on Dany and stayed there. 

Wiping sweat from her face with her sleeve, Arya handed Missandei the glass she no longer needed and took her first step in Daenerys’s direction. “So, if I beat your commander does that mean I have to replace him?”

The question caught her off guard. Neither one of them had brought up the future as it pertained to their relationship. She knew that she loved Arya and by some miracle Arya loved her back, but they hadn’t discussed what would happen when they returned to the South. Would Arya even want to go? She could choose to remain in Winterfell with Sansa now that they were reunited. 

“Do you want to replace Grey Worm?” Daenerys asked, trying to match Arya’s casual tone. 

“Seven Hells no,” she said. “Too much standing around and way too many meetings.” 

“What do you want to do?” she wondered sincerely. 

She shrugged her shoulders, an act that didn’t seem to cause her pain any longer. “There is always work for someone like me.” Her serious tone changed to something lighter when she added, “Think the Dragon Queen needs an assassin around?”

“She needs you around, I can promise you that,” Daenerys said, taking Arya’s face in her hands and lifting up onto her toes for a kiss. As they separated, she whispered words she was still getting used to saying, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Arya said, picking up the pendant off Daenerys’s skin and holding it to the sun, checking to see how the light reflected off the stones. 

“He did an okay job huh?” 

Somethings Dany could tolerate Arya joking about, most things in fact, but not this. Her necklace, the pendant Arya gave her, was not something she’d ever let anyone demean, not even Arya. “It’s beautiful. You know I’ve worn it everyday since it was left for me.”

Arya carefully set the silver back down on the upper part of Daenerys’s chest. Her fingers grazed the skin there before she let her hand fall away. “You don’t have to wear it all the time I just…”

She pressed a finger to Arya’s lips. “I wear it everyday and I always will, because it reminds me who I really am.” 

“Who is that exactly?” Arya asked when the finger was no longer in the way. 

“Dany,” she said with conviction. “She may be a Targaryen, and she may be a Queen, but that isn’t all she is.”

“Whoever told you that, sounds like a smart woman,” Arya remarked, smugly. 

Not kissing her would have taken more patience than Dany possessed. She brought their lips together hard and for the first time since Arya woke up, she pushed her tongue into Arya’s mouth. If she was healthy enough to spar with Grey Worm, she could survive a little tongue-kissing. 

She’d forgotten about everything and everyone until Sansa cleared her throat from the balcony above. “Were you looking for me, your Grace?” 

She backed away from her lover with wide eyes and burning cheeks. Arya was less than helpful. She burst into a fit of laughter that had her arms folded against her side to protect her injury. “Stop laughing!” she demanded. “You’re going to hurt yourself!” 

Arya didn’t even fake compliance. It was several seconds before she could speak. “It’ll be totally worth it,” Arya assured her. “You should have seen your face when you realized Sansa was watching us.” 

She folded her arms over her chest and scowled as convincingly as she could. “Why aren’t you as mortified as I am?”

“Because,” she said wrapping her arms around Daenerys’s waist, “I have more practice dealing with my sister’s disapproval, years in fact.”

“You think she disapproves?” Daenerys asked in a rush. Sansa was a friend. The way she found out about their relationship was less than ideal, but still, she had hoped to have Sansa’s blessing. 

“If you don’t want to make it worse,” Arya told her, “you better go.” 

A distinction occurred to her. Arya was talking about her going to see Sansa, not them. “You aren’t coming?”

“Absolutely not,” she said after she dropped a kiss on the top of Daenerys’s head. “She asked to see you, not me.” She wasn’t joking. She really was sending Daenerys off to meet with Sansa alone. If she didn’t love her, she might have hated her right then. 

Sansa and Brienne were talking quietly in one of Winterfell’s sitting rooms. Wine and snacks were already laid out, one of the empty chairs was clearly for her. She couldn’t hear what they were discussing, nor did she want to pry into their affairs. Brienne noted Dany’s presence and went to take her leave. Sansa gave her one final order before she got to the door. “Get some rest Brienne, you’ve been working tirelessly since the first men began going missing. Now that they’re home, take some time for yourself.” 

“What about you m’lady?” 

Daenerys recognized the tone, she was concerned about Sansa’s safety in her absence. “I plan to do nothing more than enjoy a glass of wine with Daenerys and then retire to my chambers.”

“As you wish m’lady,” Brienne relented. “Nice to see you again your Grace,” she said as she passed Daenerys. 

“You too Brienne. Have a nice evening.” 

When they were alone, they made small talk for a few minutes. Sansa asked about the capitol and Daenerys told her about her plans to improve Flea Bottom. Daenerys inquired about the state of the men who had been kidnapped and Sansa reported all were well. Those with injures were expected to make a full recovery. Preparations were underway to bury the one man who didn’t survive. 

She knew Sansa didn’t ask to speak with her privately to discuss these matters, but she didn’t mind. She sipped her wine slowly and enjoyed the conversation. “Did you always want to be Queen?”

“Not always, when I was a girl, I thought I could have a normal life. I didn’t understand that my Targaryen blood would make that impossible. I dreamt of having a family, being a wife to a loving husband, a merchant’s wife or a sailor’s maybe.” 

Sansa smiled at the childish wishes of the other Queen. “Being Queen was what I wanted most, for as long as I can remember. Arya fantasized about being a knight or a member of the Kingsguard, but not me. When my parents agreed to wed me to Joffrey, I thought all my dreams were coming true.” 

She knew there wasn’t anything to say. Tyrion had told her in graphic detail just how cruel his nephew was. She also knew that for a long time that cruelty was aimed at Sansa. 

Sansa unbothered by her lack of comment continued talking, after a sip of wine. “I never imagined it like this though. I was going to be Queen with a husband at my side. He’d love me, value my opinion and we’d govern together, raising our children to rule after us.” 

“That sounds like a good dream to have.” 

“It was a childish wish,” she dismissed, “the reality is nothing like that.”

“It helps to have good people around you. I have Missandei and Tyrion, you have Brienne and Podrick.” 

“We learn from the people around us, don’t you think? Whether it’s good or bad depends on who we surround ourselves with.” 

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

As she waited for Sansa to begin, she wondered why she’d chosen Daenerys to share this with? Was it because Daenerys was a Queen, was it because of her connection to Arya? She didn’t know, because she wasn’t sure what it was Sansa wanted to tell her. “I’ve known some vile people in my life, and as horrible as they were, each one of them taught me something.” 

“Really?” 

“Cersei was the first woman I saw with real power. She was cruel and vindictive, but her power was absolute.” Sansa said, reflecting on the past. 

“Yes, it was,” Daenerys agreed. She’d seen the Lannister Queen at the height of her reign and knew the extent of her control. 

“She was also the person who taught me that you didn’t need armies to defeat your enemies. It was Cersei’s instinct for self-preservation that led to my father’s death. She didn’t rule as Queen then, didn’t control the treasury and the army didn’t bend to her will as it would later. She saw my father’s kindness as a weakness she could exploit and she did, wielding it like a weapon. 

Unsure of what else she could offer, Daenerys made use of what she did have. “Cersei died and the wrongs done to your family were avenged.” 

“I appreciate that,” she said simply. 

“I know it’s not much, but I hope it does give you some comfort.” 

She responded by moving on, to another subject, another person. “Joffrey,” she said his name with a sneer, “I may have a lot to learn about being Queen, but Joffrey knew nothing about being King. Even when he wore the crown and sat on the throne, he was a child playing King, nothing more.” 

“What did that teach you?”

Sansa sipped her wine and gave Daenerys a slight smile. “That there is more to being royal than your blood. Joffrey was named King because he was supposedly Robert’s son, but even if he was, he was unfit. He showed me that having a bad King is worse than having no King at all.” 

Daenerys wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She took the Iron Throne because it was her birthright. Was Sansa suggesting she shouldn’t be Queen? While she searched Sansa’s words for a hidden meaning, she kept going. “You must have discovered the same thing. The people that follow you don’t do it because you’re a Targaryen, then do it because they believe in you. There was no one who could say that about Joffrey.” 

It was a little easier to breathe after hearing the end of Sansa’s point. It was true too. Her Targaryen blood might have pointed her toward the Iron Throne, but it was her qualities beyond that, that helped her win it. As Sansa cited, the Unsullied didn’t follow her because she was a Targaryen, the Dothraki didn’t join her because she was the daughter of a King. “Is being a Stark in Winterfell of all places, difficult?”

Thankfully Sansa didn’t take offense. Daenerys truly meant no disrespect. “The Northern nobles may have chosen me because I was Ned Stark’s daughter, but I work everyday to improve the lives of the people I rule, not just in Winterfell but in all of the North. I made it clear that I would only accept the position, if they agreed to work with me to better things for all of us.” 

Daenerys was impressed. She knew Sansa was a capable Queen, but she’d also had been there when Jon was struggling to keep all the Northern houses unified. It was a challenge to get them to agree on the most basic of things. Sansa had done it, not using an iron fist and demanding allegiance but by softening her hold. Daenerys made a note to try something similar when she returned to King’s Landing. “It’s working, the North has peace, and you’ve taken major strides in rebuilding what was lost to the White Walkers.”

“It’s coming along,” Sansa allowed with a proud smile. “It’s easier now that everybody is on board. At first, I had to prove myself over and over to get their respect. It didn’t leave much time to actually accomplish anything.” 

Daenerys could definitely relate to that. Her first year in King’s Landing had been much the same as what Sansa described. “At least you were born and raised in Winterfell. Half of my court still sees me as a foreign invader. The other half think they could do better just because they have a cock between their legs.” 

They laughed together as only they could. No other living person had tried to rule as Queen. “You’d think after Cersei they’d already be past that.”

Daenerys laughed a little harder. “That’s what I thought too. According to Tyrion, the ones opposed to female rulers only supported Cersei because they believed she learned enough from her father to be an adequate substitute.” 

Sansa shook her head. “I guess it wouldn’t have done you any good to say you learned from your father too, huh?”

Daenerys chuckled humorlessly. “Taking tips from the Mad King would be worse than if I were just a foreign whore.”

“Do they not see the progress you’re making?” Sansa asked, the humor gone, her question sincere. “Once things in the North changed for the better, people eased up.” She paused. “At least it had been going well until the men started disappearing.” 

“They’re back now. Things will settle, Stanley is dead.” 

“Things have been busy of late, with Arya and the men returning, but I hope you know how grateful I am that you helped. We wouldn’t have been able to get Arya and the others back without you.” 

Daenerys considered telling Sansa that she would have done fine even if Daenerys hadn’t come, but she feared Sansa would take the compliment as poorly as her sister. “I was glad to. We aren’t only allies, I consider you a friend Sansa. If you or the North ever need anything, political or personal, you can come to me.” 

“Thank you,” she said emotionally. “I know if the families of all the rescued men were here, they’d thank you too. As Queen, I’ll do so on their behalf.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“At least Stanley’s dead. I can’t believe he was the one behind all this.”

“Did you know him well?” she asked carefully, aware of how sensitive the issue. 

“Not really,” she said looking down into her lap. “I can’t remember anything special about Stanley really, except that Ramsay seemed to like him more than most of the others he kept around.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Brienne and Grey Worm are confident he was among the dead at the farm.”

“I hope this is the end of it.” She shook her head and sipped her wine before explaining what she meant. “Sometimes I can’t help feeling that I’ll never live up to my father’s legacy. I did lose dozens of men for weeks, maybe they’re right to doubt me.” 

“They aren’t,” Daenerys said quickly, “but I know what you mean. I’m the first Targaryen anyone in Westeros has seen since the Mad King. Some people are just waiting for me to start whispering about voices and betrayal and fire.”

“Do you ever worry?” Sansa asked, until she realized how it might sound. She tried to take it back. “I’m so sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have…”

Daenerys smiled. Sansa was being honest with her, she could do the same. “I do worry about it, that’s why I have the people around me that I do; Missandei, Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, even Arya. I know none of them would let me do anything that was bad for the Realm. They’d stop me if necessary and that’s exactly how it should be. I want to improve things.”

“I’d say you’re off to a good start,” Sansa said. 

“I was taking hints from you actually,” she admitted without shame. If Daenerys was going to emulate a Queen, Sansa was a worthy choice. 

“What do you mean?”

“In one of your letters you told me about the orphanages you were building. I decided that King’s Landing needed one as well, and after some debating and bargaining I got it finished.” 

“That’s great!” Sansa said with a wide smile. “Congratulations. Our orphanages are already filled to capacity, but it’s better than these children living on the street.”

“Thank you, I’m very happy with how things turned out.” 

“My final lesson was taught to me by a man named Littlefinger. Did you know him?”

“I never met him, though his reputation is still whispered around the Red Keep. Tyrion and Varys speak of him and rarely kindly. 

“Littlefinger loved my mother, unfortunately for him, my mother didn’t love him. Years later, as he was selling me to the Boltons he claimed to love me. Whether he did or not is irrelevant, he betrayed my family, and that had to be made right.”

“What happened to him?”

“I accused him of murdering my Aunt. Not his only crime, nor his most gruesome but it’s the one I could prove. He was found guilty and Brienne cut his throat.” 

She said that with a finality to it. Daenerys gave her a moment. “Sounds like he got what he deserved.”

“He did,” Sansa confirmed, “but before he died, he did teach me to look past a person’s words. He taught me to use what a person doesn’t say, or their deeds to see the truths they’d never admit out loud. He showed me the value in watching. You can get a pretty good sense of who someone is by watching them, especially if they don’t know they’re being studied.” 

“Tyrion has given me similar instructions more than once. Leading the Dothraki left me woefully unprepared for all the lying, the backstabbing and the cheating that takes place in civilized society.” 

“Littlefinger’s lessons help me as a Queen and a person. I find myself often trying to think like he would, to spot the lies, and to see the things those who come before me wish to keep hidden.”

“That’s a hard task,” Daenerys acknowledged knowingly. 

“Not always,” Sansa countered with a smile, “sometimes its quite obvious.” She took a long sip of her wine and then set it down. “Arya was in Winterfell for days before you arrived. I watched her in that time. She told me she was different, but I didn’t really believe it, not until I saw it with my own eyes. I watched her in the yard training with Podrick. Seeing that, I couldn’t deny the years had changed her, different from the way they changed me perhaps, but no less profoundly.”

“She’s still in there, the Arya you remember, I promise,” Daenerys said in a rush.

Sansa surprised her by nodding. “I know. I watched her for days, she was cold, distant and rough. In all that time I don’t think I saw her smile, not really. She’d give me a forced smile once in a while, but nothing else.”

“Arya is…”

“I was beginning to lose hope, until you came from King’s Landing. Even when you were fighting with Arya, there was a change in her. Since she’s been back, it’s impossible to overstate. I’ve seen her smile, real smiles and I heard her laugh too. I’d forgotten what it sounded like, it had been so long. You make her happy.” 

The subject of Arya brought a smile to her face. “She makes me happy too.”

“I know.”

She didn’t detect any criticism in the affirmation, but she was still plagued by Arya’s comment about Sansa’s disapproval. “Sansa, if you think your sister and I are a poor match, or if you don’t think I deserve her…”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes!” she said fiercely, hoping Sansa could tell how true it was. 

“Good.”

“Good?” she said in disbelief. “You aren’t upset?”

“You make her happy. After everything she’s been through, she needs that, she needs you.” 

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep her happy,” she promised. “She means the world to me.” 

“I know,” Sansa declared confidently. “I know what love looks like.”

“What does it look like?” she felt compelled to ask. 

“You look at Arya the way our mother used to look at our father.” Having heard about the depth of the love between Ned and Catelyn Stark that was high praise as far as Dany was concerned. 

She’d been raised to hate the Starks by Viserys, yet the comparison pleased her. “I’ll take care of her,” Dany vowed, sensing that was what Sansa needed most from her. 

She was proven right when Sansa visibly relaxed, smiled and said, “Thank you.”

R-C

She needed to wait until both Dany and Sansa were busy with other things. Luckily, they had frequent meetings which provided Arya her opportunity. 

The Unsullied guarding the dungeon stepped aside without a word when she began her descent. His prison was larger than hers, but Doyle looked just as terrible as she had when she first crawled out of her cage. His hair was untamed, his face was smeared with grime and his skin was lined with bumps from the cold. She took perverse pleasure from the fact that he was suffering. 

He did an adequate job of pretending he didn’t know she was there, but Arya spotted the change in his breathing, even as he kept his eyes down. “Do you know who I am?”

Doyle looked up from where he was sitting and scoffed. “Why does everyone always ask me that?”

It was rhetorical, but she couldn’t help herself. “You look stupid, that’s why.” She tried to imagine who had come down and posed the same question, but it didn’t hold her interest for long. “We feel like it’s necessary to state the obvious.” 

His face twisted with rage. If he wasn’t in chains, and if the bars weren’t between them, he would have charged. She would have welcomed it. “I was smart enough to get you and the others taken,” he said in his defense. 

“And how’s that going for you?” she mocked. “You were Stanley’s puppet. He needed you, but once you served your purpose, he abandoned you.” 

Arya noticed he didn’t disagree with her opinion. Instead, he changed the subject. “What do you want?” 

Yes, they were getting a little off-track. It was good that he kept her on the right path. This wasn’t about him, or her, this was about his crime. “Did you know Captain Ozwick?” He scoffed again, telling her without words that he thought her question foolish. “Since you’re so smart, you probably know that your friends killed him, before someone killed them, right?”

She could see he hadn’t known. “What they do has got nothing to do with me.” He worked hard to convince both of them that was true. 

“You’re wrong,” Arya said as she slipped the key into the door and opened it. “Someone needs to pay for his death. His wife, his daughters, his friends, his men, me, Sansa, we’re all owed justice.” 

He stood when she entered his cell. He was bound to the wall, but decided he wanted to die on his feet. Arya enjoyed how he shrank away when she got close. He had to swallow before he could reply. “Kill me then.” 

Arya chuckled. “Why do you think so lowly of me?” she asked as she unlocked the first of the two chains holding him back. “Killing a helpless man is as quick as it is pointless.”

“W…what are you doing?”

Arya ignored his question. She was deeper in the cell than he was when he was granted his freedom. She could feel his uncertainty. He wanted to run. He couldn’t take his eyes off the open door, but didn’t move, assuming the Unsullied would cut him down if he tried. 

She gave him a minute to stretch his muscles. Drawing her dagger Arya twirled it in her hand before she held it out to him, handle first. Doyle was reluctant. “What’s that for?” He didn’t want it without knowing what would follow. Even if he gutted her would he have any chance against the Unsullied? 

“You helped get a good man killed,” Arya accused. “If not for your betrayal Ozwick would be alive. You need to answer for that.” 

“You’re going to kill me then,” he guessed, standing up a little straighter. 

“I’m not fit to judge a man for taking one life, not when I’ve taken so many more.”

“What… what are you saying?!” 

“We’ll leave it to the Gods,” she decided. “Take the dagger and we’ll battle, right here.”

“You have a sword, a dagger is no match.” 

She smirked as she unstrapped the belt she wore. Doyle foolishly believed the size of their blades would determine the winner, she would gladly prove him wrong. She threw Needle out of the cell, and out of reach. “Problem solved. If you defeat me, the Unsullied will let you pass.”

“Horseshit,” he objected, but only after he’d taken the offered weapon. “They’ll kill me even if I win.” 

Her hands went behind her back. “Kill me and find out,” she encouraged. 

Doyle lunged for her. She sidestepped him and quickly returned to her pose. “Fight me damn it!” he demanded after his second attempt ended like the first. 

Her lack of enthusiasm coupled with his dismal failures seemed to enrage him. His third attempt was closer. Instead of going for her throat, he aimed for the center of her chest. She had to use her left hand to knock the blade away before it could cut her. 

She knew the strain would likely tear her stitches, but that could be mended. Doyle needed to die, and she needed to be the one to kill him. Ozwick was due that much. 

With a furious roar Doyle rushed her and Arya again dodged him. She grabbed his wrist to keep the dagger from getting too close. The bigger man turned them and shoved her against the rear wall of the cell. Inch by inch they wrestled over the blade, and she was losing. She turned the tides by raising a knee straight up into his bruised ribs. As he recoiled, she seized her chance. She rotated them and pinned Doyle to the wall. She kneed him again, harder this time. Suddenly their situations were reversed. Now it was he, who had to keep the dagger’s edge from biting him as she applied downward pressure. Four hands were together, all frantically grasping for the thin handle of the weapon. Her teeth were bared, and her face red as she pushed past his skin. The first wound wasn’t fatal, but it did effectively end their dispute. When the dagger sank into him, both Doyle’s hands loosened their hold. He put up one final, futile effort, shoving against her chest with both hands as he leaned back into the wall. He had no where to go and she saw the realization in his eyes as she pulled the dagger out and then buried it deep. He was collapsing when Arya removed the steel a second time. She wasn’t done. There was still life in him she needed to extinguish. 

He sat helpless in a growing pool of his blood. He was dying but she wasn’t satisfied. She sliced across the center of his neck for good measure. She deprived him of little more than a minute in truth, still she felt better when it was over. 

Her heart slowed to a more reasonable pace and the haze of battle faded. Replacing her thirst for violence was the pain in her side. She looked down, fully expecting to see red against her shirt, but there wasn’t. Sam was more talented with a needle and thread than she originally thought. 

The Unsullied said nothing as she gave the keys to one of them and left them to guard a corpse. 

Dany was there when she got upstairs. She saw her concern and sought to offset it as best she could. “It’s not my blood,” she said, referring to her hands. 

“I know.”

“You do?” she asked, unable to conceal her disbelief. 

“The Unsullied were told not to let anyone pass unless they were permitted by Sansa or I,” Dany informed her. 

“They let me pass.” 

Dany’s concern shifted into a beautiful smile. “They did, you’re welcome.” 

She’d known? She’d known and she allowed Arya to do it anyway? She didn’t appear angry, and she hadn’t wasted time trying to change Arya’s course. She let it happen. She thought Dany was still learning, but maybe she’d already figured Arya out. She’d known Arya would need vengeance and she helped her achieve it. 

“Come on,” Dany said, holding out one of her small, white hands. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

R-C

She was more nervous than at any time during her captivity. She feared the approaching trio of women in a way she didn’t any man wielding a sword. Unsure of what to do she looked down at herself. Her clothes were neat, and she was as presentable as anyone such as herself could hope to be. “Lady Ozwick,” she said to the elder in the group. “My name is Arya, Arya Stark, and I knew your husband.” 

The captain’s wife was a woman of about his age. She had rosy cheeks, and reddened eyes that told Arya she’d been crying. “Arya Stark?” she said in surprise. Like her husband, the Lady Ozwick knew the story of Ned Stark’s children. 

She nodded. “I was with your husband in his final moments and wanted to express my condolences for your loss.” 

Ozwick’s wife sniffed hard to hold back her sob and Arya felt sympathy for her. How many men had she killed? She rarely felt anything for them, before or after their deaths but Ozwick was different. He gave his life for her. A kindness she didn’t ask for but one she appreciated. Ozwick was why she returned to Winterfell to Sansa and Dany, why she got to tell her Dragon she loved her. He changed her life, although the cost for him and those who cared about him was far too high. “Thank you, m’lady.”

She smiled stiffly and swallowed down her comment about not being a Lady. “Are these your daughters?” she asked, looking to the young women. One had light brown hair that matched her mother and the younger had more of her father’s features. Both were wearing their finest dresses. The younger held a cloth in a tightly closed fist in anticipation of the next round of tears. 

“Yes, m’lady, this is Roselyn and Melody.” 

Arya met each woman’s eye and nodded in greeting. “Your father spoke of you fondly,” she said. “All three of you,” she added, giving a sincere look to his wife. “He is a hero, to all of Winterfell and the Realm.”

It took the widow a few seconds to reply. “Thank you m’lady, that is very kind of you to say.”

“It’s true,” she assured them. “I would have been killed had your husband not given his life to save me. Even when I ordered him to go, he remained to protect me.” 

There was a watery chuckle from all three women. “That sounds like him,” Melody commented, while her sister nodded in agreement. 

“Your father kept his men alive and strong until we could escape. None of us would have made it without him.” 

“D…did he suffer?” Ozwick’s wife asked, though it sounded like she was afraid of the answer. 

“No,” Arya promised, exaggerating a bit. “He went down fighting and his final thoughts were of the three of you.” That may not be accurate in the strictest sense, but it was a good lie, one she didn’t regret when she saw a flash of relief pass over the Ozwick women. 

“Was it you who granted permission for my husband to lay in the Stark crypt?”

“When Sansa learned of your husband’s sacrifice, she agreed it was the least we could do.” 

“Isn’t the crypt for your family?” Roselyn asked, earning a stern glare from her mother. 

“The crypt is for Starks yes, but also heroes of the North. Your father will fit in well.”

“He would be honored,” his wife said quietly. “To rest beside your father, your brothers, would be a dream for him.” 

“It’s one he more than earned, my sister and I agree on that.” 

Behind them people were beginning to file into the crypt for the ceremony. Arya didn’t want to delay them, but there was more she needed to do. 

Killing people paid well. Whether it was for the Faceless Men or after, she had more gold than she could spend. She had everything she needed, so most of what she earned was hidden away for the rare moments it could be useful. Moments like this. She spent the morning out digging up a cache of weapons and gold a few miles outside Winterfell. She buried it during the war with the Dead but hadn’t been back since. 

“There is one more thing,” Arya said carefully, hoping her offer wouldn’t be misunderstood. No gold could pay for the life of their father and husband, that wasn’t what she was trying to do. She just wanted to ease the burden of the family, giving them a small fraction of what they were due. 

“Yes?”

She reached for the pouch of heavy coins on her belt. “This is the wage owed to your husband, for the weeks he went without pay during his captivity.” Arya extended her arm to the widow. “It could never compensate you for all you’ve lost, but I know he would have wanted you to have it.”

Ozwick’s wife hesitated. “That is very kind, m’lady but your sister paid my husband’s wage to us while he was missing.” 

Another lie would be required to convince them to take it. Luckily, she had plenty of practice. “This was his last request,” she said, hoping that would sway them. “Please accept it with my gratitude and know that if you ever need anything, no matter what it is, you can come to Winterfell. If I’m not here, Sansa will know how to reach me.”

“This is too much,” the widow said when she felt the heft of the purse. 

“It’s not nearly enough,” Arya countered. “Nothing would be.”

“Thank you m’lady,” she said before looking down at the pouch of gold and then glancing around for a place to put it. Eventually Roselyn took the coins from her mother. She let them make their way to the crypt without her. Arya promised she’d be right behind them. 

“That was very kind of you,” Dany said, approaching where Arya stood alone. The Queen pressed into Arya’s uninjured side in a half-hug. 

“It was the right thing to do,” Arya replied with conviction. She could only hope Ozwick found peace knowing his family would be well cared for. 

R-C

Her instincts were sharper than any blade she carried. They had to be. She couldn’t have survived everything she had otherwise. 

Everyone in Winterfell was celebrating. The missing men were saved, only Ozwick had been killed, Stanley and his men were dead, and the traitor who betrayed them was no longer a problem. As a bonus Dany’s newest advisor was going to finance the Queen’s wish-list of improvements for King’s Landing and beyond. It was all a little too neat, except it wasn’t. Someone had killed Stanley and his friends. She needed to see it with her own eyes. 

That’s why she’d left Dany and snuck away. She wasn’t stupid enough to think neither Sansa or Dany would notice her absence. She just hoped they’d be quick to forgive when they realized where she’d gone and why. They had the feast to prepare for anyway. 

As the proper Lady and host she was, as their mother had been before her, Sansa insisted on a feast to honor Dany and her men. She wanted to thank them all for coming in the North’s hour of need. As her sister saw it, the only reason most of Sansa’s men were back with their families was because Daenerys chose to help. It was hard for Arya to disagree. A feast was a suitable way to mark the occasion before the Unsullied and their Queen began their march South. 

She looked to the clear, bright sky. It was cloudless and she cursed in Valyrian. Was it too much to ask for a blizzard to delay her? If Sansa wanted to honor Dany, Arya was fine with it. She just didn’t see why she had to be there? She could think of dozens of ways she’d rather spend her last night in her family home. 

She actively ignored the nagging voice in the back of her mind. It accurately pointed out that if she’d waited another day to make her trip, it would have been impossible to get back in time for the festivities. She hadn’t done that, and the reason was obvious, Dany. She didn’t want to disappoint her Dragon anymore than she already had. 

Years tending to the fountain inside the House of Black and White acquainted her with the smell of death. She knew it well and it struck her immediately as the barn came into view. She remained on her horse and rode past the prison she’d been kept in. She knew what she’d find in the barn, a lot of empty cages, blood, some of it hers, and a few bodies. She was more interested in what she hadn’t seen on her last visit, the rest of the land, specifically where the sell-swords had been staying. 

On foot she walked among the dead. She paused at each body and knelt. Not to pray but to assess the injuries and try and learn how they happened. Was it the same weapon each time? How close was the attacker to his victims? Could he have gotten so close if he was unknown to them? She needed answers. It was just as Brienne and the others described, it was a blood bath. Two men had been standing guard when they died. Arya noted two distinct wounds, each one precise. Both were killed with a quick, clean cut to their throats. The gashes were different sizes, telling the trained assassin they came from different tools. Two weapons, but one man, she deduced. The bodies were angled toward one another slightly. Arya thought at first, they were speaking when they died, but now she was beginning to doubt that theory. How could they be approached by their killer and not stop talking, not separate or look away? The pieces fit if their murderer was between them, facing them, talking with them. In that scene it would have been easy for the attacker subdue both guards. It accounted for everything she saw; the lack of defense, the two weapons, the blood pools so close together they nearly met in the middle. She knew how she’d have done it. She would’ve stood between them, engaged them in conversation and then struck, one dagger in each hand, going straight for their necks. The killer had used a sword for one, and a knife or dagger for the other but he was no less effective. Arya moved on. 

By the time she found Stanley’s body she had learned a lot. She assumed upon hearing Brienne’s report, it hadn’t been one man, few were skilled enough to do this alone. That said, it hadn’t been many either. She estimated ten men had murdered a force nearly three times their size. It was impressive. Arya felt no empathy for the kidnappers who held her prisoner and caused Sansa so much trouble, but she did struggle to reconcile It all. Why had they come and killed everyone? What could they gain? The ransom hadn’t arrived. Some of the men still wore small pouches of gold under their armor. Whatever this had been about, it wasn’t money. Was someone avenging Sansa? That seemed unlikely given that everyone motivated to do so was back in Winterfell. 

She stood over Stanley’s body. He was one of the few who appeared to have put up a fight. What did that mean? Was he just quicker than the rest? Had he heard the fighting and readied himself? If so, why didn’t he run? Did he think he could succeed where his sell-swords failed? The sword that had fallen from his grasp as he died was colored by dried blood. He’d gotten at least one good swipe in before he met his Gods. 

Unlike most of the others who didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late, Stanley showed signs of combat. Rather than a clean cut to his neck, he had a small cut on his shoulder, then another lower down on his sword-arm, and finally the killing blow, a plunge of a broadsword right into his chest. He may have injured his killer, but he hadn’t been anticipating trouble. If he were, he would have put on his armor. She closed his blank eyes and touched his grimacing face with the palm of her hand. He died in pain. She was glad to know that. She would have preferred to be the one giving him the Gift, but she could live with this. Sansa would be safe. 

On the walk back to her horse, Arya was plagued by questions with no clear answers. Why were the sell-swords still at the farm? She and the others had escaped, so why did Stanley and his men remain? He had to know that as soon as they reached Winterfell Sansa would send people to the farm. Why weren’t they gone already? Was he so arrogant that he didn’t think they’d find him, or did he believe his men could defeat any who came? When had they been killed exactly? Sansa and Dany didn’t dispatch anyone to the farm until after Arya woke. Could the murders have happened in the time between the escape and when Stanley and his men could flee? 

She could have remained, with the corpses of her enemies, but she had an appointment to keep. It was a long ride back to Winterfell, and she’d need a bath before she was fit to stand at Dany’s side. 

R-C

Daenerys hadn’t realized Arya was there. She’d been busy with Missandei and Sansa, preparing things for the celebration. Sansa tried to insist that as the guest of honor Daenerys couldn’t help but the Queen rejected the claim and allowed herself to be put to work. It was a worthy cause, even if her motives weren’t entirely pure. With Arya gone, she could benefit from the distraction. Joining Sansa kept her mind off Arya at least a fraction of the time. She didn’t know where Arya had gone exactly but Daenerys could think of a couple of highly probable possibilities. 

She entered her chambers to get a bracelet that would compliment her dress and found instead, Arya sitting in the bath, scrubbing away a layer of filth from her arms. She forgot about the jewelry. “You’re back!”

“I’m sorry…”

Daenerys suspected she was going to apologize for leaving, for going alone without telling Dany her destination or when she’d be back. With Arya there, in front of her, safe and unharmed, it was easy to overlook the inconsiderate behavior. She didn’t want to fight. She squatted down and leaned over, ending Arya’s apology by pushing the words back into her mouth. 

“I don’t care,” Dany said. “Are you hurt?” 

Her eyes raked over Arya’s body, both above and below the waterline for any signs of injury. There wasn’t anything. The water was tainted by dirt, but Daenerys saw no red, no evidence Arya had washed off blood, not hers or anyone else’s. 

“I’m fine,” she promised. “I just went to the farm, I had to see it for myself.”

That was one of the places Daenerys thought Arya might have disappeared to. It was a strange delight to realize she’d been right. 

“I thought you were going to miss the feast,” Daenerys teased. 

“I considered it,” Arya bantered, “then I remembered I already skipped one feast with you, I probably shouldn’t do that again.” 

Daenerys was touched. The feast for the Dornish, it seemed so long ago now, much had changed. While she enjoyed the idea of walking into the feast with Arya on her arm, she didn’t want her to feel obligated. “That’s sweet of you,” she said honestly, “but I won’t take offense if you want to be elsewhere.” 

Arya moved and Daenerys was temporarily distracted by droplets of water moving down her muscles. It had been quite the surprise to come in and find Arya, naked in the tub. Daenerys allowed herself to hope it would be a frequent occurrence in her future. She stared shamelessly. She loved Arya, and Arya loved her. It looked like Arya intended to stand, but she only went far enough to cup the back of Dany’s head and guide her mouth to a place Arya could easily reach. 

Daenerys bent into the tub in a lewd attempt to keep their kiss from ending. She had no concern for her dress, or her hair as Arya’s fingers messed up Missandei’s hard work. She couldn’t think of anything beyond the feeling of Arya’s lips on hers.

She didn’t know how long they had before the celebration began. What she did know was that both she and Arya were due to make appearances shortly. As they were in most things, Daenerys and her lover were opposites. Daenerys had chosen her dress carefully. Her hair was styled, and the pendant Arya gave her hung from her neck. Even if she didn’t find the bracelet she’d come to get, she was presentable and ready. Arya in contrast was naked, still in the bath and apparently undecided in what to wear. 

“If you don’t stop, I’ll end up at the feast still smelling of rotting corpses.” 

A smudge of dirt on the side of Arya’s neck caught her eye. Daenerys dipped her fingers into the water and then scrubbed away the spot until it was clean. “That’s better,” she commented. 

“I know it’s hard to imagine,” Arya joked, “but I am capable of bathing on my own. Not all of us have handmaidens and servants.”

She was trying to get a reaction from Dany, and she was about to, although it wouldn’t be the one Arya anticipated. She unfastened the clasp that held her dress and let the silk fall to a pile at her feet. She stepped out of her shoes at the same time she separated herself from the dress. “I think you could learn to appreciate a little help washing your back.” 

Arya’s eyes greedily drinking her in had Dany on fire. She felt beautiful and wanted, and Arya hadn’t even said a word. “Are you going to summon Missandei to wash my back, your Grace?” Arya teased. 

She hummed and shook her head. “No one else is allowed to see you like this,” she said as she stepped over the side. She bent down and skimmed her fingers along Arya’s collarbone. “No one else is allowed to touch you like this.” 

Arya was shifting in the water, trying to make room for her. “Is that so?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at the naked Queen standing behind her. 

“Mmhmm.” Her fingers continued to wander. She could have lowered herself into the water, but she was enjoying the rare treat of being taller. “Queen’s law,” she decreed. 

When Arya turned, Daenerys stopped her. “Stay,” she said, pressing down on Arya’s shoulder to emphasize her point. She sat and leaned back to accommodate Arya’s larger body. “Isn’t that better?” she asked, as Arya settled between her spread legs. 

Her hands roamed without purpose, enjoying the innocent contact. When she felt the freshest wound, she remembered why she’d been hesitant to push Arya too strenuously. “Does it hurt?” 

“I can’t feel it,” Arya informed her. She was inclined to believe her. It had been days since she’d seen Arya tense or contort her face in discomfort. Not even when Daenerys was touching the area directly did Arya flinch. 

“Still,” Daenerys protested as she took the cloth and began to gently wash Arya, beginning with her arm. “You shouldn’t exert yourself Perhaps it’s best if you let someone take care of you tonight.” 

Arya leaned into Daenerys more deliberately. “Someone like you?” she asked as she set her head on Dany’s shoulder.

Her hand and the cloth she held were on Arya’s neck, working down. She wanted to take her time, to savor every second, but she was tempted to rush. It had been too long, she had Arya, naked, within reach and mostly recovered. 

She hadn’t realized how long she stayed, rubbing against Arya’s breast. The cloth had fallen away, and it was Dany’s hand alone that was doing the ‘cleaning.’ She squeezed the mound and then rolled the nipple between her fingers. She would have kept on enjoying the moment had Arya not said, “I think you got the dirt.”

Her face heated, but embarrassment didn’t stop her from sliding her hand over to Arya’s other breast. “One can never be too careful.” 

The water gave her away. When Daenerys was kissing the column of her neck she didn’t moan or gasp. Daenerys might have thought her efforts weren’t having the desired effect had it not been for the water she felt rippling as Arya squirmed. 

When Daenerys’s hand went below the water to begin stroking the inside of Arya’s leg, the Northern woman grabbed her wrist. “We’re going to be late.” 

“For what?” Daenerys asked, feigning ignorance as she massaged Arya’s thigh. 

“The feast,” her lover said through gritting teeth. 

“What feast?” She twisted her wrist to compel Arya to release her and as soon as she had, she got back to her task. 

It wasn’t an accident that her fingers brushed Arya’s lips at the precise moment she tried to respond. “T…the celebration in… your honor.” 

Daenerys grinned at making her composed partner shudder. “I think a more private celebration is in order.” 

After another touch of her fingers to Arya’s pussy Daenerys purposefully kept out of reach. She was rewarded when Arya pressed her back into Dany’s chest and lifted her hips to bring her closer to Daenerys’s hand. How could she deny such a sexy request? 

“Dany,” she sighed breathlessly as the Queen circled her clit under the water. 

“I know you probably have a thousand things you have to do tonight,” she said reversing their obligations, “but could I convince you to stay with me instead?” To try and illicit the proper answer, Daenerys gave Arya more direct contact with her fingers. 

Arya groaned. “It’s not me they wish to thank.” 

“Perhaps not,” Daenerys acknowledged, doing her best to sound unaffected, “but you’re the only one I intend to honor tonight.” 

Arya twisted so she could get her lips in range of Daenerys’s. She noted that moving that way would have been painful, if not impossible for Arya only days earlier. She really was recovering as well as she claimed. 

As they kissed Daenerys continued her assault. Beneath the water she teased Arya’s clit, above it she tugged on a nipple. Arya’s strangled groan against Daenerys’s lips was better than any speech being given in the Great Hall. She’d choose the taste of Arya’s tongue over anything the kitchen staff of Winterfell cooked. 

Suddenly the confines of the bath were too small for what Daenerys craved. She wanted to lay Arya out and lavish her in attention. She wanted to show her that she loved her, even if it took all night. Downstairs the others could celebrate the safe return of the Stark troops. Daenerys wanted to get lost in one former captive and make up for as much lost time as she could. “Get out and lie down!” Daenerys commanded. She wanted to stand, to urge Arya along, but with her leaning back so completely, she had Daenerys pinned. 

“Lie down?” Arya verified with an undertone of mischief. 

“On the bed,” Daenerys clarified, in case it wasn’t obvious. 

“What happened to me not doing anything that might hurt?” Arya wondered with a laugh. 

“There will be nothing strenuous,” the Queen assured, “not for you at least.” She nudged Arya and finally got her to stand. Daenerys quickly followed. She kissed the back of her lover’s neck and then popped up even higher to bite her ear. “How taxing is it for you to lie there and let me taste you?” 

Arya looked back and revealed how interested she was in Daenerys’s proposal. It was in her eyes, how badly she wanted it. Dany could relate. She tried one more time to remind the Targaryen of her duty. “What about the feast?” 

In the future, she’d surely need to place the Realm before Arya but not tonight. Tonight, she’d be selfish, for both their sakes. “I’m with the woman I love.” 

All the teasing left Arya then and she was serious. “I love you too,” she said as she lowered to Daenerys for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around Arya’s neck and pressed their wet bodies together. She was still getting used to hearing Arya proclaim her love. It never failed to make Dany feel like she was the luckiest woman in the world. She doubted that would change no matter how often Arya said the words. 

“Happy to hear it,” she minimized before she stepped back out of Arya’s reach. She extended her arm and pointed to the bed. “Now lie down and get comfortable. Everyone is going to be busy downstairs for the next few hours.”

Arya was already on her way to the bed when she asked, “Think you can keep me entertained? I am missing a feast for this.” 

She was joking again but Daenerys recognized the challenge mixed in. It was one she was willing and able to accept. She put a little extra sway in her hips as she sauntered to the bed where Arya waited. “Don’t waste your energy worrying,” Dany suggested, “you’re going to need it.” 

R-C

She got out of bed carefully so not to wake the sleeping Dragon. Dany looked totally at peace with her eyes closed and a serene smile on her lips. 

The sex was incredibly intense. It would have been easy to explain it away by the weeks they hadn’t been together, but Arya had a suspicion that it had less to do with that, and more to do with the fact they were now in love. She wouldn’t have thought it could affect her to hear Dany confessing her love just before her orgasm took her, but it did. 

Life in the temple made her an early riser, but one thing she learned since returning to Winterfell was that Sansa rose earlier. No matter what time she exited her room, she’d find Sansa already in her office, hard at work. Arya headed that way. 

She knocked lightly before she poked her head in. When she saw Arya, she smiled a little before she corrected her expression. She stood up. “There you are, we missed you at the feast last night.”

“I was under the weather,” she lied with a straight face. 

She saw a flicker of the smile Sansa was trying not to show. “Daenerys must have been under the weather too then.” 

“Oh yeah,” Arya said with a cocky grin. “Whatever it was, she definitely caught it from me.” 

She could see the moment Sansa gave up trying to maintain the act. She shook her head and chuckled. “You didn’t miss anything vital,” she said seriously, “and there were no food fights, so you probably would have hated it.” 

“I wouldn’t have hated it,” she disagreed, “because if there wasn’t a food fight by the main course, I’d have started one.” 

She was working again to hide her amusement. “Well then I guess it’s a good thing you were too sick to ruin the celebration with your antics.” 

“You used to think it was funny when Robb or Bran started a food fight,” she reminded her gently. 

“That’s because they knew better than to throw things at me. You made a game of messing up my dress or my hair.” 

She shrugged. “Not my fault the feasts were so boring. I needed something to help pass the time.” 

She shook her head slowly, with one hand on her hip, a clear sign she was annoyed by Arya’s statement. She was pleased some things never changed. 

“Are you going back to King’s Landing with Daenerys?”

She didn’t know what she was doing. She and Dany hadn’t talked about it, though if Arya got a say in the matter, she’d be going wherever Dany was, including King’s Landing. “I’m not sure. We haven’t decided.” 

“I think you should go.”

“You do?” Arya asked, seeking clarification. 

“She makes you happy, don’t throw that away.”

“What about you?” she needed to know. She may have hated the idea of leaving Dany, but abandoning Sansa wasn’t much better. 

“A Stark must always remain in Winterfell,” she said quoting their father. 

“I knew you were going to say that,” she said with a hint of resignation. 

“Then why’d you ask?” 

“It doesn’t have to be you Sansa. The world is a big place. Maybe it’s time you got to see more of it.”

“You want to be Queen in the North?”

“Absolutely not,” she denied emphatically, “but if it’s what you need me to do, I will.” 

“What I do is important. I’m helping people, making their lives better after a whole lot of bad.” 

“You’re allowed to do something for you, you know. If you want to go somewhere else, do something else, something for you,” Arya said. “I’d stay in Winterfell until you got back.” 

Sansa looked visibly shaken by the offer. Unshed tears gave her eyes a glassy quality. “I appreciate that Arya, more than you will ever know, but I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“Are you sure?” It was time for Sansa to get the chance to do what she wanted. She earned the right to choose her own life. If that meant Arya had to step in as Lady Stark temporarily, she’d do it. That would force her and Dany apart. but Arya couldn’t be selfish now. For once Sansa had to come first. 

“I think we’re fated to end up where we belong. Me here, you with Daenerys in King’s Landing.” 

“Just to be clear, are you kicking me out of Winterfell?” Arya joked. 

“No!” Sansa was passionate in her rejection of the idea. “I expect you to visit, as often as you can, and just promise me you’ll be careful.” 

“I will, and I will. If you ever need me Sansa, for anything, I’ll be here, I swear. You’ll never be alone.” She gave her sister a smirk before she said, “I know my writing was never as pretty as yours but write me and let me know how things are going. I’ll write back.”

Sansa came around the desk and sisters hugged. Their relationship had never been easy. Arya knew more than half the blame for that rested with her, but this was good. Maybe in the future, there would be more time spent like this, not yelling, just talking. Arya found herself hoping. 

R-C

Daenerys was lying in her favorite place, Arya’s arms. She’d been awake for awhile but hadn’t wanted to move. The day that awaited her would be busy. The first of her troops would be leaving Winterfell in the next few hours. She was supposed to be on the road with them, although she found it hard to get started. The world wouldn’t stop spinning if she spent just one more day with Arya, before returning to the chaos of King’s Landing, would it? 

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked in a gravelly voice, still laced with sleep. 

“Nothing, why do you ask?” She hadn’t realized Arya was awake or that her internal conflict was so obvious. 

“Magic,” Arya responded, sounding amused. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just thinking about how much I don’t want to move,” she said, revealing only half of what was actually on her mind. 

Arya answered by tightening her arms around Dany and the Queen molded into her as close as she could get. “You’ll get no argument from me.” 

She bit her lip as she peeked at Arya. She was eerily still, her eyes closed against the early morning sunlight. While she’d hate leaving Arya in Winterfell, she knew Sansa would gladly accept her sister’s company. Daenerys loved the woman next to her and didn’t that mean putting her needs first? 

“Are you happy here?” she asked, hoping to ease into the conversation.

Arya’s arms flexed again. “It’s paradise,” she said with a smirk. 

It would have been easy, too easy to take advantage and let the matter drop, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want Arya to feel forced back to King’s Landing, she knew how much she hated it there. Was it better for her to remain in the North, with what was left of her family? “I’m serious,” she said, pressing down on Arya’s chest to reinforce her point. 

Finally, Arya opened her eyes. “What are you really asking?” 

She cut to the heart of it, as only Arya could. Daenerys forced the words out. “Do you want to stay in Winterfell?” Afraid that Arya would misunderstand, she hurried to clarify. “I know you hate King’s Landing and I can’t blame you. If you’d rather stay here, with Sansa, I’d understand.” 

“Do you want me to stay?” 

This was only going to work if Daenerys was honest, so she told the truth. “No, I want you with me, but it isn’t always about what I want. If…”

Arya cut her off with a kiss. She was smiling when she leaned back into the pillow. “I already talked to Sansa. She thinks I should go to King’s Landing with you, and I agree with her, for once.” 

“She does?” Daenerys felt the need to verify. It seemed highly unlikely that Sansa would want her sister to leave after they already spent so long apart. 

“Apparently,” Arya explained, “you make me happy, so Sansa thinks I should be with you.” 

Her heart was racing. Was she really about to get everything she wanted? “What do you think?”

“I think I love you,” Arya said punctuating her point with another kiss. “I’ll follow you anywhere, even King’s Landing.” 

She didn’t have words for how she was feeling, so she showed Arya through action instead. She kissed her hard, grabbing the back of her head to keep her for as long as possible. When it was over, she adjusted her position, facing Arya, and shimmying up toward her head. She was trying to maximize the potential of a repeat performance of that searing kiss. 

“What about Sansa?” she wondered. 

“I’ll visit. It’s not that far.”

Daenerys was willing to make things easier. “Just wait until you can fly. You’ll never want to ride a horse again.”

“Really?” The childish excitement she saw on Arya’s face at the mention of riding a dragon made Daenerys laugh. Arya looked as though she wanted to begin her lesson right away. It was a drastic change from her usual demeanor, but Daenerys wasn’t going to complain. 

 

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I apologize if people got bored with this one. A lot needed to happen to get them back to King’s Landing and most of it was conversation. I hope you’ll stick around for the ending. 
> 
> One chapter left. 
> 
> Until then
> 
> RC


	17. Chapter 17

Upon returning to the Red Keep, life had been even busier than usual. Varys had done an admirable job of keeping the Realm operating in her absence but there were some things that required a Queen’s approval. The stack of papers she was required to review, and sign was daunting. She wasn’t alone in her suffering either, Tyrion’s pile was nearly as tall as hers. 

Slowly things settled into their new normal. Tyrion and Varys were tasked with ensuring Illyrio knew what was required of him in his new role and the Master of the Coin seemed thrilled with the challenges the job presented. 

The biggest and most significant change for Daenerys was Arya. Now that her secrets were out, and their relationship widely known, there was no reason for Arya to hide or for Dany to sneak away. She knew her lover still hated King’s Landing and the Red Keep, but that only made her willingness to frequent the castle all the more meaningful. 

In the weeks they’d been back in King’s Landing, Arya had spent every night with the Queen. They went to bed together and woke up the same way. When it was time for her to rule, Arya would leave her with a kiss and a goodbye before disappearing. How she spent her days while Daenerys was on the Iron Throne was a bit of a mystery. When asked, Arya was vague. Daenerys knew sometimes she trained with the Unsullied or the Dothraki, other times no one in the castle could account for her whereabouts. 

Wherever she went and whatever she did, she was always there when Daenerys needed her. She listened to Dany complain about the frustrations of her day. When it was clear she was done, Arya would pick her up and help Daenerys forget all of it. She never failed. 

In the morning, their pattern would begin again. She wanted to make it permanent, and invite Arya to move into her chambers, but she was afraid saying so would unsettle her. She was anxious each night as she climbed the stairs, wondering and worrying in equal measure if Arya would be there. She always was, and that was enough. 

Sitting on the throne, she thought of Arya often. Others noticed, she was sure, though they didn’t comment. When she was struggling, it became her habit to reach for and toy with the pendant around her neck. It was a tangible reminder of the woman she loved, and her life beyond the Realm. Sometimes that was exactly what she needed to endure a difficult day. 

Improving life for the people who lived in Flea Bottom was an imposing task. Tyrion and Varys told her of the many nobles with good intentions who had the same idea. These people were not Queens or Kings, just nobles of some significance with enough money, power and generosity to want to try. None were successful. It would be different for Daenerys, it had to be.

 

Not surprisingly the court was opposed. Every one of them had heard of Illyrio’s appointment to replace the former Master of the Coins. It was also widely known that he personally filled the royal treasury with gold he brought from Pentos. Without exception, they all had plans for that money. None of the ideas presented were as ambitious or expensive as what Daenerys proposed and for that reason alone people sided against it. She heard their whispers. Her court worried that if she spent all the gold in Flea Bottom, there wouldn’t be anything left to fund their projects. 

Arya encouraged her to bargain. She reminded Daenerys that it was she and no one else who would make the final decision. Arya wanted her to pledge her approval for their ideas, in exchange for support with the slums. Just like with the orphanage and the Merryweathers, Arya’s suggestion was simple and effective. 

After a morning spent bartering for agreeable voices, she brought the issue forward to the court as a whole. Daenerys thought she had the necessary support to battle any opposition. She knew the approval wouldn’t be unanimous, but she also knew her cause was worthy. The residents of Flea Bottom had been living in squalor too long. 

It was all going well. She had substantial commitments from many, including some she hadn’t negotiated with. They were helping her while getting nothing in exchange. She dared to feel hopeful, until Illyrio spoke up. 

“With all due respect, your Grace,” he said formally, “your proposed improvements to the section of King’s Landing known as Flea Bottom would cost far more than the amount of gold presently in the treasury.” 

The murmurs started immediately. Daenerys was stunned. She saw a similar expression on Tyrion’s face. He wasn’t expecting that either. As Master of the Coin, Illyrio’s word carried weight. The nobles around her agreed on little, but they were universal in their fear that the Crown would suddenly be too poor to keep them in the lavish lifestyles they’d grown accustomed to. Every house represented in her court depended on business with the capitol to survive. If King’s Landing couldn’t pay its debts, the ripples would be felt across Westeros. 

“I wish it weren’t so,” Illyrio said, “but as Master of the Coin, my duty is to ensure we have the necessary gold to meet our obligations. What you are proposing would leave everyone in this room destitute.” 

Daenerys’s shock was rapidly becoming anger. Her choice to bring this up hadn’t been careless. She’d spoken with all of her advisors at length, including Illyrio. He hadn’t mentioned any of his concerns then. In fact, he’d approved. Now, with the court watching, he was stabbing her in the back. 

Tyrion tried to salvage what he could. “Surely there is some middle ground,” he proposed. “Not all of what the Queen is suggesting needs to be done at once. Payments could be made in small amounts that wouldn’t upset the Realm’s finances.” 

“I don’t see how,” Illyrio resisted, “I visited Flea Bottom recently. I saw the extent of the work that would be required. It’s my feeling that if we agree to what the Queen is suggesting, we will default on our obligations to the Iron Bank and others within the year.” 

The damage was done. People who had agreed with her before, were not so sure anymore. She could have fought, urged Illyrio to change his mind, but it wouldn’t have accomplished much. He’d come across as a loyal advisor who was relenting to his Queen, regardless of his own opinion and she’d be the bully who was forcing him to comply. She was backed into a corner, her only option was to postpone the fight for another day. “Very well,” she said, giving the former Magister her falsest smile. “I am still committed to improving Flea Bottom, but I am willing to wait until a time when it will not place the Realm in jeopardy of default.”

“I think that would be best,” Illyrio said, twisting the knife. 

She held her tongue until the room was clear of all but those closest to her. “What was that?” she demanded, marching straight to the large man. 

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I gave you my opinion, isn’t that my job?”

She wasn’t going to let him hide behind his duty. “It wasn’t an opinion you had when we discussed it in private!” she reminded him loudly. “You told me you liked my idea, then you ambushed me in front of the court.” 

“I changed my mind,” he said sharply. “I wasn’t aware that wasn’t permitted.” 

It was a struggle to keep from erupting. She hadn’t lost her temper since her fight with Arya and she was working hard to keep from doing so now. She didn’t want to be another Targaryen who resorted to violence every time she disagreed with someone’s point of view. Tyrion was concerned about the same thing. “Daenerys, perhaps we should discuss this later.” 

“That would be best,” Illyrio noted. “I have another appointment.” 

“Another trip to Flea Bottom?” Daenerys spat sarcastically. He was already moving, but she hit her mark. She didn’t know Illyrio well, but she was confident he’d never been to Flea Bottom in his life. He certainly didn’t go to assess the potential cost of her improvements. 

R-C

“I didn’t see it coming,” Daenerys admitted as she laid on the bed with her head in Arya’s lap. Her lover’s long fingers were combing out her hair in slow, rhythmic strokes. With each pass Daenerys felt a tiny fraction of her annoyance slipping away. “I knew he had an agenda when he showed up in Winterfell but…”

“What does he get out of keeping Flea Bottom disgusting?” Arya asked casually. It was a question that had been bothering Daenerys since she sent the court away. She didn’t like things she couldn’t understand. There was seemingly nothing for Illyrio to gain, so why do it? 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, as her anger threatened to leak out. She began to try and sit up. Arya sensed the change and used her free hand to nudge Dany and keep her flat. “He knew what I was going to do, he didn’t say anything until the room was full of people. He had to have a reason.”

“Want me to deal with him?” she offered. Since learning that Arya was more than just the woman she loved, propositions like this took on a whole new meaning. She was left wondering if it was Arya, her lover asking or Arya the Faceless Man? 

“I want to understand.”

The firm touch that had been holding her down slipped from the front of her shoulder to the back. Daenerys leaned into the touch and was rewarded when Arya used her palm to lift Daenerys up. She knew what Arya wanted and wasn’t going to delay. She met her halfway for the kiss and in a few blissful seconds forgot all about her embarrassment and frustrations with the court. 

“I just want to help those people. Flea Bottom is terrible and so many people live there,” she whined. “Why can’t it be easy, just this once?”

“What are you going to do?” Arya asked as Dany laid back on her folded legs. 

That was the question, wasn’t it? What was she going to do? She couldn’t outmaneuver Illyrio until she understood the game he was playing. “Illyrio’s smart, if he is up to something, I’ll need to tread carefully.”

Arya rolled her gorgeous eyes. “Careful is for pussies,” she retorted. “Remind him which of you is Queen.” 

She laughed, savoring the way Arya could lighten the mood with her blunt approach to governing. It was stunning really, how simple Arya made it seem. So much of her advice boiled down to reminding people she was in charge and taking control, yet it always worked. 

“What do you think I should do?” In the presence of anyone else and it might have bothered her how her voice sounded needy. She was surrounded by snakes. If they sensed weakness, they’d attack. Arya, despite being the most dangerous person in the Red Keep, was no threat to her. She could be herself, vulnerable and honest. Arya would protect her. 

“Trust your instincts,” Arya answered firmly. 

“My instincts?” she repeated back. That was her grand advice? 

“When I was at the temple, they taught me to follow that voice in the back of my mind. It can sense danger or notice things your eyes and ears miss. It’s there for a reason, you just have to trust in it.” 

That sounded a little too simple. Daenerys had her doubts. “Just like that? Just listen to the voice in my head?” 

“When you took your dragon eggs into the fire, did you know what would happen?”

She wasn’t sure how to reply. She didn’t know exactly, but she had an idea. She could feel it. She recalled the nervousness. Jorah had tried to stop her, and she reassured him with a smile, but it hadn’t been as sincere as it looked. Up until that moment, she’d tested her tolerance for fire by holding her hand over a flame. It never hurt, it didn’t even leave a mark, but that wasn’t the same as being completely engulfed. 

At that point in her life, she was at her lowest. Her husband was gone, her son was gone, the khalasar she’d grown to care for was abandoning her. She’d never been so alone. She had nothing to lose if she was wrong, so it hadn’t been all that difficult to walk away from Jorah and into the pyre.

Her dragons gave her a sense of purpose when she desperately needed one. They set her on a new path, one she followed all the way to Westeros and the Iron Throne. Astapor, Meereen, the Bay of Dragons, the North, King’s Landing, all of it began in those flames. Countless people had asked about that moment, but she never shared the truth, never told them that she hadn’t cared if she failed. In a lot of ways, it would have been easier to join Drogo and Rhaego. How could anyone truly understand that? She was so lost, so broken, she found a new life in the strangest of places. Arya was the exception. Her path had been different but similar. She lost her family to the Lannisters. She couldn’t hide in the flames as Daenerys did, so she fled to Braavos behind the doors of a deadly temple. As Daenerys’s dragons gave her a reason to continue, Arya’s need for vengeance kept her going when she had nothing else. Now they had each other and Daenerys was grateful. 

“I can’t explain it, I just knew it would work,” she said, finally answering. 

She knew how odd that would be, she was trying to find better words, when Arya smiled. “That’s what I mean. You could feel it, you knew what to do. It’s no different now just because you rule.” 

It was a little different she acknowledged privately. “I had nothing to lose,” she protested. “If I’m wrong now…”

Arya silenced her with a kiss and Daenerys forgot what she intended to say. “It’s the same,” Arya promised, “trust your instincts, the details don’t matter.” 

She smiled. Only Arya would call being Queen a ‘detail’ and only Arya could make Dany believe she was right. 

R-C

She was careful on her way to the spymaster, wanting to make sure she wasn’t followed. Varys didn’t appear surprised to see her, though he hid his emotions almost as well as Arya, so it was difficult to be certain. 

“Your Grace,” he said warmly, “lovely to see you.”

If he didn’t know this was serious, she informed him by closing the door immediately upon her entry. “I am in need of your discretion.”

Across from her Varys was visibly excited at this admission. “Please sit,” he encouraged, “I’ll do what I can to help.” 

She took the chair but refused his offer of drink. “I need to send word to Meereen, to Daario,” she began. 

“Daario, I was under the impression you and he rarely spoke.” 

That was true, but this was a unique circumstance. “I have need of him. There is no one else I can ask.” 

The Spider misunderstood her motives. “Are things going well with Arya? She stays in your chambers almost every night…” 

Daenerys stopped him right there. She wasn’t calling on Daario in some ridiculous attempt to rekindle their relationship. She was quite happy with the one she currently had. She needed him for another purpose. “No!” she insisted. “I’m happier than I’ve been in a very long time. I need Daario’s assistance on another matter.” 

“Alright,” Varys allowed. “I have people in Meereen who can make contact with him. What do you have in mind?”

“I need him to go to Pentos,” she explained. 

“Pentos?”

“Illyrio says things were fine, that he came to help me, but I want to be sure.”

“You have your doubts?” Varys guessed correctly. “If this is about the other day, I heard he opposed your idea, but I don’t think that was personal.” 

“If I’m wrong, so be it, but I need to know.” 

Varys was uncomfortable. “I’ve known the Magister for a long time. We were associates as you know, trying to place your brother on the throne.” 

“I know,” Daenerys said stiffly. “If the day came when you had to choose between supporting me or Illyrio where would your loyalty be?” 

Her abrupt, intense inquiry provided Daenerys with her first look at an uncomfortable Varys. She’d never seen him anything less than perfectly composed. Even when he was encouraging her to kill him, he’d been poised to the end. “My loyalty is to Westeros, as you made me vow it always would be.” 

That was true, but old friendships were powerful. Varys was in a strategic position that could complicate things drastically if he sided with Illyrio or anyone else against her. “You promised you’d tell me if you had a problem with my leadership…”

She let the words hang there and Varys filled the silence. “I did.” 

“And do you?”

“You’ve done nothing but improve the lives of the people you serve since the day you replaced Cersei,” he observed. 

“You approve then?” she verified. 

“I do,” he said smoothly. 

She couldn’t point to one specific reason, but she believed him. She felt she understood Varys, and he’d given her no cause to doubt him, though she was certain King Robert felt the same way. “What can you tell me about Pentos, are things there as calm as Illyrio says?”

He thought for a moment and then responded. “I did know Illyrio was coming,” he admitted. “He told me he was bringing gold to help you fulfill your dreams for the Realm.” 

“You didn’t say anything!” she accused him harshly. 

“I didn’t, because since before you took King’s Landing, Illyrio has made similar claims that never came to pass. He’d say he was on his way, and then several months later I’d receive word that he never left.” 

“Why not?”

“Each time he said his business kept him and he rescheduled,” the spymaster finished. 

“Do you believe him?”

“My associates in Pentos confirm it, your Grace.” 

“And what of your little birds? What do they say now?”

He pursed his lips. “Very little of late.” He anticipated her next order. “I’ll take steps to find out immediately.” 

The answers wouldn’t come quickly, but that was fine. It would give Daenerys the chance to carefully map out her next steps, if Illyrio could be trusted, and if he couldn’t. “Do you think his motives for coming here are genuine?” she asked, putting him on the spot. 

“I never met anyone more committed to seeing a Targaryen rule Westeros.”

“I’d already taken the throne,” she reminded him, working hard not to get carried away. “You were with me when we were going up against a legion of Undead. You were there when we attacked King’s Landing. If he truly wanted to help, why now?”

Instead of answering, the Spider posed questions of his own. “He has what he’s always wanted, why would he sabotage it, sabotage you? How could that benefit him in anyway?”

She didn’t know the answer, she just knew it didn’t feel right. Arya told her to trust her instincts, and she was. “Send Daario to Pentos to learn what he can. When his report arrives, I want to be the only one to read it.”

R-C

After the plans for Flea Bottom fell through Daenerys remained committed to improving the lives of her subjects. Rather than sulking over how Illyrio had ruined her plan, she was taking Arya’s advice to heart and reminding him who held the real authority in King’s Landing. “Spread the word,” Daenerys told Tyrion without preamble one afternoon, “anyone, anywhere in Westeros who has an issue they want the Crown to consider, is welcome to come and seek an audience.” 

“Are you sure, Khaleesi?” Jorah inquired. “Every man or woman with a grievance will flood King’s Landing.” 

She ignored the knight and met Illyrio’s eye. She’d invited him to this meeting so he could see that whatever he intended to accomplish would fail. “Then you best prepare for their arrival. The treasury has a surplus of gold thanks to Illyrio’s generosity and I intend to put it to use. If not in Flea Bottom, elsewhere.” 

Tyrion appraised her carefully. It was rare she brought up a matter in public that they hadn’t discussed privately first. In this case, she didn’t need his counsel. “Our debts to the Iron Bank are substantial.” 

“And we will continue to pay them,” she promised, looking at the man from Pentos again. “Illyrio see to it that we keep a sum of three payments to the Iron Bank in reserve.” 

“I will,” he confirmed. 

Satisfied, Daenerys nodded and angled herself toward her Hand. “There, now we’ll ensure our debts to the bank are not neglected and we still have plenty left to better people’s lives.” 

“You’ll be very busy,” Tyrion warned, “if you do this, Jorah’s right, people will come, and they’ll demand the audience we promised them.” 

“There may be another way,” Illyrio tried. “Many of the nobles in court have suggestions to improve their various homelands. Approve some and you could improve people’s lives as you desire without inviting every common man and woman in Westeros to the capitol.” 

“That would also ensure a fairness to the process,” Varys added. “If you help the kingdoms in order, no one would feel they’d been slighted.”

There was a certain logic to what Illyrio, and Varys were saying, she couldn’t deny that. Still, she didn’t want nobles using this as an opportunity to enrich themselves while the masses were ignored. “No,” she decided. “I want to hear directly from the people. Jorah, you work with the guards to ensure we have extra men at the gates and in the crowds, double the patrols. Tyrion, you will create a schedule to ensure we see as many of our guests as we can. Illyrio,” she continued, addressing the Magister. “I will need a detailed review of just how much gold I have to spend. Varys use your contacts to spread the word.” 

“Your Grace,” Illyrio began, attempting to dissuade her from her course. “A detailed count of the treasury like you’re requesting will take days to…”

She didn’t care. “It wasn’t a request! Get started. When the first visitors arrive, the count will be done, or I’ll find someone capable.” 

Her advisors collectively sucked in a breath as she threatened to replace Illyrio. She was certain he had more he wanted to say, but she’d heard plenty. “You’re dismissed!” 

R-C

Arya was reliving her youth when Missandei found her. Standing on one foot, on the edge of a step just as she had a lifetime ago. This time it wasn’t her father who asked what she was doing, and why, but the woman from Naath. “Are you alright?”

She opened her eyes and smirked at the former slave without settling her second foot down. Her balance had improved drastically since the last time she attempted this test. “Yes, are you?”

Arya was still adjusting to life in the Red Keep. So far there hadn’t been any substantial problems, largely because everyone left her alone. No one had ever approached her like this. In fact, with the exception of Dany, few people spoke to her at all. The servants avoided her, and the Queen’s friends were wary for a variety of reasons. When conversation couldn’t be helped, it was always brief. 

“The Queen was looking for you,” Missandei informed her, after a delay. It was obvious she still had questions about what Arya was doing. Apparently, they could wait. 

“You can tell her where to find me,” Arya said, hopping from one foot to the other, changing which leg she was balancing on. As she did Missandei’s hands reached out in anticipation of catching a falling assassin. Arya’s smirk widened. 

“She asks that you meet her in the room where you first had dinner,” Missandei countered, sounding uncomfortable with the words she was required to say. 

This had Arya’s attention. Since their argument in Winterfell, Daenerys had made it a point not to try and demand Arya do anything. She may have held royal authority over everyone else, but both Dany and Arya understood it didn’t apply to the Wolf. If Dany had sent Missandei to summon her, there had to be a reason. She straightened her bent knee and dispersed her body’s weight over both legs for the first time in nearly an hour. From several steps below, Missandei relaxed. “Is she alright?”

“She is, I believe she wishes your opinion on something.” 

Dany wanted her counsel? That was even rarer than Dany seeking her out in the middle of the day. Typically, Arya made herself scarce to allow the Queen to conduct the business of the Realm in peace. They didn’t usually reconnect until just before dinner. 

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she entered the room. Dany was pacing and hadn’t heard her approach. She had her back to the door, wearing a black dress with silver accessories. Her hair was done in a fancy braid. She looked beautiful, but Arya doubted that was why she’d been sent for. 

The sound of Arya closing the door behind her made Dany jump. It took a moment for her Queen to settle. “I’m sorry,” she said truthfully. She hadn’t meant to scare her. 

“It’s okay,” Dany reassured her weakly. “I just didn’t hear you…” 

“Is something wrong?” she asked, fully aware that there was. 

Dany took time to compose herself. Some of the tension in her posture faded but not all. She gave Arya a forced smile before she went to the table and retrieved a scroll. “This arrived today,” she said holding it out for Arya to take. 

She didn’t want it. Whatever it said had put Dany on edge. Was it about Sansa? She thought she left her sister in a good place. She was in Winterfell, with Brienne, Podrick and the garrison of troops, Stanley was dead, his men were dead, the traitor was dead. Had she made an error by assuming it was over? 

Dany encouraged her to take the scroll by shaking it. She did, slowly unwinding the single page. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but she wasn’t an expert. When she reached the signature, she went back to the beginning and started again. It wasn’t what she feared, but it definitely wasn’t good. “Who else knows about this?” she asked after she finished her second read. 

“Just you,” Dany said softly. “I don’t know who to trust, I don’t…”

Arya looked away from the document and into Dany’s violet eyes. She was afraid. Forgetting the scroll, she dropped it and put her hands to better use. She held her close. “You can trust me,” she whispered, before kissing the top of her head. “I promise.” 

“What do I do?” 

She considered the question. This is what Dany needed her for? She wasn’t asking the consort, or Ned Stark’s youngest daughter, she was asking the Faceless Man. She needed the assassin’s advice. “Do you trust the man who wrote this?” 

Dany shook in her arms, causing Arya to tighten her hold. “I do, Daario’s loyal to me, he always has been.” 

Arya knew who Daario was. He’d been the leader of Dany’s sell-swords in Essos and if the rumors were to be believed, he was also Dany’s former lover. “Do you believe what he said?” she asked carefully. She didn’t want Dany to think her doubt was rooted in her past with Daario. She didn’t care about that. She just needed to know if Dany believed what he’d written. 

“It makes sense,” the Queen acknowledged. 

Arya agreed with that. There was a certain logic in what Daario reported from Pentos. “What do you want me to do?”

She finally ended their hug and Dany stepped back to look at Arya’s face. “What would you do, if this was your enemy?”

She chuckled without any real humor. Her hand grazed down Dany’s cheek. She closed the gap between their mouths but didn’t kiss her. “If he intends to harm you, he already is my enemy.” 

“Will you teach me how to stop him?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to involve anyone else?” 

She shook her head, and Arya could see she’d already made up her mind. “No, he’s my problem. I’ll deal with him.”

“We will,” Arya corrected, directing Dany toward the bench near with window.

R-C

Even her knocking was sloppy as she leaned on the door a little too much. When it opened, she barely had enough time to catch herself against the frame. “Iss thiss where the party iss?” she slurred, extending her s’s. 

The tall guard appraised her. With nothing else to do, she did the same to him. His name was Raqim, and he was the elder of the Magister’s guards. He’d been at Illyrio’s side since he showed up at Winterfell. He followed his charge every time he left the keep and was unquestionably the man who knew his recent activity best, which made him an ideal candidate to collect information from. Having retired for the evening, he’d taken off the expensive, well-made, armor he typically wore. He looked older and weaker without it. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and blocked Arya’s entry. “No party in here. You’ve got the wrong place!”

In her right hand, the one not leaning on the door for support was a bottle of expensive rum. “Come on, I swiped this from the Queen’s stash. If I have to spend another night drinking with politicians, I’ll toss myself from the highest window.” It didn’t look like he was going to bite. “Come on, you spent all day with the Magister, right? That’s got to be boring as fuck since all he does is sit behind his desk reading books!” 

Her rant pushed him over the edge. “One drink, then you’re gone.” 

Arya suspected his interest was in the alcohol she offered more than her company. “Aren’t you the Queen’s consort?” he asked as they sat. “Trouble in paradise?”

She rolled her eyes. “When it’s just us, it’s fine, it’s everybody else I can’t stand. I can’t get two minutes alone with her, ever.” 

Raqim provided the glasses and Arya poured into them. They were bronze, heavy and sturdy. It was a common choice for sell-swords since their things frequently got tossed about. Bronze would dent and not break, in fact Arya had a similar set in her saddlebag. 

She poured the rum heavily, splashing some onto the table in the process. When she was finished, his cup was filled more than halfway to the top and hers, a third. “To expensive rum, may they never notice it’s gone!” she cheered, raising her glass. 

He clinked his glass with hers and she nodded. “Go on, see if it’s better than what the Magister gave you in Pentos.” 

Arya bit back her smile as she watched him take a long sip. Her hand was suddenly steady as she lifted her glass. She tilted it slightly, but not enough to let any of the liquid reach her mouth. Still, she played her part, wincing against the imaginary burn and setting her cup down loudly. “Fuck that’s good. Tell me you get rum that good in Pentos. Go on,” she prodded, “lie to me.” 

He took his second taste. “That is good.” 

Satisfied that he’d keep drinking it, now all she had to do was wait. “Bitch of a trip crossing the sea isn’t it. Was it your first time?”

Watching him closely, she noticed when his eyes started to droop. “Y…yeah, I’m glad I don’t have to do that again.”

Arya saved that piece of information for later. So, Illyrio was never returning to his life in Pentos, regardless of what Dany decided to do with him. 

They made small talk until his cup was empty. Arya’s was still a third full. She’d spilled a little, acting drunk, but hadn’t tasted a drop. Since she knew what she’d added to the liquid, she didn’t want any of that in her body. 

Daenerys had given each of Illyrio’s guards a private room in the barracks. It allowed Arya to do what she needed without interruptions. 

While she waited for the powder to take effect, she had a quick look around. He traveled almost as lightly as she did. He had a single leather bag, that presumably held his clothes and personal belongings, and then there was his armor, already cleaned for the next day, waiting on a stand.

He fell from his chair without warning, knocking over the table on the way. Arya stepped back and let him drop. He’d be easier to tie up on the floor anyway. 

The powder was something she learned about in Braavos. It was a favorite of some in the order, it left the prey awake, paralyzed from the neck down and docile. Victims were incapable of resisting and even if they could, they wouldn’t want to. This was the first time Arya had tried it, she preferred her blades, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The ingredients were easy to find. Only two took any effort to locate. The trick was in getting the mixture right. One slight miscalculation and the concoction paralyzed the victim’s throat too. Not only would they choke and die, they’d be unable to share their secrets. 

With no experience using the drug, she didn’t know long the paralysis would last. As a precaution she tied him up. She bound his wrists together and then his ankles, before rolling him onto his back. He didn’t complain, he didn’t say anything, he just let her do what she wanted. She decided to start with something easy, to gauge the powder’s effect. “Do you know who I am?”

He blinked twice and stared straight at her, looking confused. He paused to clear his throat and then said, “You’re the Stark girl.”

Good start. He can think and talk. She was starting to see why some assassins swore by the fine, brown powder she added to the rum. “That’s right, what’s your name? Where are you from?”

“Raqim,” he said, taking her questions in order. “Meereen.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Magister Illyrio Mopatis.”

“Do you like him?”

“I guess. His gold spends, that’s all I care about.”

She smiled while he kept that same dim expression. “Do you know why he came to Westeros?”

“Yes.”

“Why did Illyrio come to Westeros?” she inquired specifically. 

“Because they were going to kill him if he stayed in Pentos,” Raqim said, confirming what Daario’s letter alleged. 

“What did he do?”

“He was stealing. He was blackmailing the Prince and getting more than his share.” 

More confirmation, but it didn’t make sense. Anyone with even a passing knowledge of how things worked in Pentos knew the Magisters were the real authority. The Prince served at their pleasure and was nothing more than a replaceable figurehead. 

“So, the other Magisters want him dead because he was blackmailing their Prince?”

“No,” he corrected, “they only care because he wasn’t paying them their cut. They have rules. All money paid to one Magister is brought before all of them and divided.”

“He has money, can’t he just pay them back?” It was hard to imagine the millions of gold coins he brought for Dany wouldn’t have settled the dispute. 

“Not anymore,” he answered blankly. 

“Why not?” Arya wondered. “Does he have enough?”

“Yes, but he didn’t want to pay.” Raqim said, spilling his Master’s secrets freely. 

“Go on Raqim, you’re doing great.”

“Illyrio kept demanding more, and the Prince finally said ‘no’. While Illyrio was away on business, the Prince ran to the other Magisters for help. He told them everything, how much he paid, when and why.”

Arya was beginning to understand. “They realized Illyrio has been holding out on them and calculated how much money he owed?” she guessed. 

“He had enough, I don’t know why he didn’t just pay, but he got furious anytime anyone even suggested it.” Even as he described Illyrio’s rage, Raqim showed none of it himself. It was like he was reading from a book rather than remembering. 

“What happened next?” Arya prodded, when he wasn’t going further on his own. 

“He invited the Prince to dinner at his estate and while they were eating Illyrio told me to kill him,” Raqim recalled. 

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I slit his throat.”

“Why did the Prince go?” Arya asked, genuinely curious. “He had to know Illyrio was dangerous.”

“He couldn’t refuse,” Raqim explained, “he obeys all the Magisters, even Illyrio. He doesn’t really have a choice.” 

Daario’s letter said the Magisters in Pentos were not only looking for Illyrio, they also put a price on his head. When they discussed Daario’s report Dany struggled to think of anything that could cause such a drastic fall from grace. He had gone from being one of the wealthiest and most influential men in Pentos, to running for his life. Now they had the answer. He killed the Prince and stole from his partners. Arya wasn’t naive enough to think the murder was the more offensive crime in the eyes of the Magisters. 

She’d heard plenty of stories about Pentosi Princes. They were replaced easily and often but only after a majority of the Magisters agreed. Illyrio killed one on his own, for personal gain, while he hoarded the gold for himself. No wonder he fled. 

That answered half of Arya’s questions, but there was more she needed to know. Daario’s letter speculated that Illyrio left Pentos months earlier than he led Dany to believe. 

“What happened when the Prince was dead?” 

“We took all of Illyrio’s gold and sailed for Westeros,” Raqim confessed in his bland way. 

“When did you arrive?”

“Hmmm,” he muttered as he thought about it. “Five months almost.”

“And what did you do during that time, before you went to Winterfell?”

“Whatever he told me to.” 

She cursed herself for not thinking of a more specific question. “Where was Illyrio staying before he came to Winterfell?”

“An estate near what’s left of Dreadfort.”

“Why there?”

“No one would think to look for him there,” he stated accurately. 

“What did Illyrio do there?”

“Met with people.”

“What people Raqim?”

“Sell-swords, couriers, some nobles.”

“Is that where he met Stanley?” Arya asked, fitting the pieces together in her mind. 

“Yes.”

“How did Illyrio know Stanley?”

“One of the nobles told Illyrio about him.”

“Told him what?” she asked, hoping for clarification. 

“That Stanley was upset about not getting the title he was promised.” Stanley wasn’t the boss of anything. He was just a prick with a convenient grudge. 

“Who came up with the idea to kidnap Stark troops?”

“Illyrio.”

“Why not just kill them?”

“’Cause if they were dead Daenerys wouldn’t need his money.”

All the sudden it was Arya’s nameday and she was getting exactly what she wanted. All the things that bothered her were beginning to make sense, the innerworkings of the plot being laid bare before her. “Why didn’t you send the ransom letter before I was taken?”

“Illyrio told Stanley to wait.”

“What was Illyrio waiting for? He couldn’t have known I was alive, or that I’d get myself captured.” 

“He didn’t,” Raqim assured her. “He was waiting until Stanley had enough hostages that the ransom would be too high for Daenerys to pay, even with Sansa Stark’s help.” 

There was a certain elegance to Illyrio’s scheme. The assassin in Arya had to admire it. If it hadn’t been put into action against the woman she loved and her sister, she had half a mind to let it proceed. “Who killed Stanley and his men?”

“I did.”

“Alone?” she prompted. She’d seen the carnage first-hand. Most of them were cut down before they could even pose a threat. It would have been hard to accomplish for any sell-sword, no matter how skilled or experienced. 

“No.”

“Who was with you?” she asked when he was back to one-word answers. 

“Bandits. I hired them. Told Stanley we was gonna bring him more men and kidnap more Starks.” 

“You and the bandits killed Stanley and his men?” 

“And Henson, he was there too.” Henson was the second of Illyrio’s two guards. 

“How did you get the sell-swords to lower their guard? How did it happen?”

“I brought them gold,” he said. “The bandits weren’t very good swordsmen. Most of the ones they killed weren’t expecting it. A few of them got lucky too.”

“What about after you lost the element of surprise? Did Stanley and the others fight back?”

“Yes.”

“Who killed them Raqim?” she asked loudly, annoyed with the time this was taking. 

“Henson and I did most of them. A few of the bandits were okay with a blade and helped a little.”

She thought back to when she’d been walking the farm. She didn’t see anyone that looked like opposition. If Raqim was right, where were the ones Stanley and his kidnappers killed? “What happened to the bodies?”

“We moved them off the property and buried them.”

“Why?”

“Illyrio told us to.”

“Did he tell you to bury Stanley too?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He wanted the Queen to find them and know they were dead,” he justified. 

“Did any of the bandits survive the fight?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to them?”

“Henson killed them while I was digging the hole.”

“What would have happened if I didn’t escape?”

“Daenerys would have paid the ransom, then we would have killed them and taken it back.” 

So that was it. She knew who killed Stanley and his men. She knew why Sansa was targeted, she even knew why the men were kept alive and why it took so long to demand a ransom. She had learned almost everything Raqim could teach her. 

“What is Illyrio’s plan? Why did he come to King’s Landing?”

“To get access to the treasury.”

“What’s he going to do with it?”

“Instigate a rebellion.”

Just when she thought she had it all figured out. “Why would he want that?”

“To fix it.”

“Why create a problem only to solve it?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Illyrio was devious. He was a worthy adversary, who’d unfortunately chosen the wrong side. 

“To earn the Queen’s trust.”

“What happens after she trusts him?” she asked, pushing it one step further. 

“She’ll make him Hand of the Queen.”

“And then?”

“Then he’ll take power a little at a time, until he becomes the true King.”

“Dany will never let that happen!” Arya shouted, upset on the Queen’s behalf. 

“The last Targaryen did. When he was muttering to himself the King’s Hand ruled Westeros.”

Like some twisted magic, she couldn’t stop asking questions. “How would Illyrio convince Dany to let him take over?” 

“He’d marry her off, when she has babies, she’ll busy herself with raising them, not ruling. Illyrio will be the one she turns to.” 

There were some minor flaws in his plan, like the fact that Dany couldn’t have children, or that she wouldn’t be available to marry anyone, if she and Arya remained together, but the larger scheme was sound. He’d laid out a pretty expansive plot and so far, it was working perfectly. Even without babies there was the possibility it could happen just as Illyrio devised. There was only one piece he couldn’t account for, her. He couldn’t know about Arya, that she was alive, that she was a Faceless Man, or that Dany would love her. 

She should have let it go, but she was curious. “Dany loves me, how was Illyrio going to convince her to marry someone else?”

“He didn’t know yet,” Raqim admitted candidly. 

“What did he say?”

“That once Daenerys trusted him, he could tell her you were no good, that you were lying to her or whoring around, maybe.”

“Anything else?”

“If that didn’t work, he said we would kill you.”

Illyrio’s plan was a lot more intricate than Arya expected. Dany needed to hear the details for herself. Taking a cloth from her pocket she gagged her prisoner and hurried out of the barracks. With any luck she’d find Dany and get Raqim talking again before people started to miss him. 

R-C

Daenerys was speechless. Arya had been vague about what she’d dosed him with but whatever it was, it made Raqim answer any question she could think to ask. She’d never seen anything like it. 

She’d been suspicious of Illyrio since the moment he arrived. He came right when she needed him, with exactly what she required. Now she could see, that was by design. He hadn’t learned of Sansa’s plight and travelled from Pentos to help. He arrived in the North months earlier, plotted the whole thing and then hired men to carry it out. “Why would he do all this, harm Sansa just to help me get you back?” 

“It’s pretty clever if you think about it,” Arya responded. Raqim was bound and gagged on the floor, waiting for the assassin and the Queen to decide what to do with him. 

“It doesn’t seem clever!” Dany said, rejecting that any of this was logical. 

Arya put a hand on her arm. “Calm down and think about it like the Magister would.” 

“I’ve never been a Magister,” she retorted petulantly, “I don’t know how they think.” 

She was being unfair. Without Arya she still wouldn’t know what Illyrio was planning or why. It didn’t feel like a victory. She felt stupid. She should have realized his motives sooner. Sansa suffered, her people suffered, all because they happened to be Dany’s allies. It was all becoming too much. 

Arya was ready and able to help her see the point. “If Illyrio showed up in King’s Landing unexpectedly and asked to be Master of the Coin, would you let him?”

“Of course not!” she answered without thinking it through. 

“Exactly, he needed to do something to win your favor, so he created a problem, and then he solved it for you.” 

When Arya explained it like that, she could see it for the manipulation it was. “All of this to seize power?”

“Ask Tyrion,” Arya encouraged, “his father practically ruled the Seven Kingdoms, while yours was lost in his madness.”

“How could he ever think I’d replace Tyrion with him?”

Arya shrugged. “My guess is he was going to show you proof Tyrion had been working against you all along.” 

“What proof?!”

“If it were me,” Arya opined, “I’d make it something financial, something that dates back to when Tyrion was Master of the Coins. He’d start whispering in your ear, until everything Tyrion did or said looked suspicious. Then Illyrio would swoop in at the last moment and arranges the necessary support for your improvements to Flea Bottom to begin.”

“Flea Bottom?” She didn’t see the connection. 

“Or anything other issue you cared about,” Arya amended, “anything that would make him indispensable to you.” 

“I’d like to hope I wouldn’t have fallen for that, but I don’t know.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault,” Arya assured her. “It wouldn’t be one thing, it would be everything, piling up, until you couldn’t trust Tyrion. Illyrio would look like the only one you could rely on. From there, it’s not a big leap to making him Hand of the Queen.” 

“I’m going to kill him,” she announced, already thinking of ways she might make the Magister beg for his life. He was part of a plot to sell her to the Dothraki when she was little more than a child. She tried not to hold that against him, but he hadn’t learned. He was using her again. 

“If you want, I’ll kill him tonight,” Arya offered, “but there is another way.”

She was tempted. If Illyrio were dead, all of this would be over. Things could return to normal and she’d spend his money improving the lives of thousands. “What way?” she forced herself to ask. The words tasted horrible on her tongue, but she really was trying to stay calm, despite the traitor in her midst. 

“Let me get a confession, in front of you, and a handful of others. Then they can spread the word that Illyrio was betraying you. That should limit the accusations that you killed him without cause.”

“I can’t let you torture him,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Even if he did confess, no one would believe it. They’d just call her a savage for letting it happen. 

“While I’d thoroughly enjoy torturing him for what he’s done, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” Arya said. She was smirking in that sexy way of hers. 

“Tell me,” she said, knowing she’d agree. 

R-C

She laid on the bed covered by only the thin red sheet. Across the room Arya stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sell-sword’s armor on her chest. When she began, it was too big, but over the last half hour Arya made seamless, subtle changes to the straps and now Daenerys dared anyone to think it wasn’t made just for her. She added to the soles of his boots, thickening them so she’d appear taller and stuffed clothe into the toes to compensate for her smaller feet. Watching this Dany could see it wasn’t the first time Arya altered her appearance to look like someone else. It made her curious. “Who else have you been?”

Arya stopped her work and turned toward the Queen. “Who haven’t I been?” she countered. “I’ve been a beggar, a noble and everything in between. I sold oysters on the docks of Braavos, I acted in a play, I was a handmaiden, a whore, a cutpurse, a cupbearer. I’ve been whoever I needed to be.” 

“You don’t need to do this,” she said, silently hoping Arya would change her mind. She couldn’t bring herself to order Arya to stop, but she feared for her safety. The knowledge that her plan made sense did little to calm her nerves. She’d seen almost everyone she ever cared about preparing for war, Drogo, Daario, Jorah, and now Arya. It felt different this time and she couldn’t say why. “We could find another way. I’ll accuse him in front of the court.”

“He’ll deny it,” Arya predicted. “I know you’re worried, but I can do this. This is who I am.”

Suddenly the lack of contact was unbearable. She scurried down the bed and held out a hand in Arya’s direction. She walked the length of the room to take it. How could Arya think she was nothing more than an assassin to her? Daenerys changed that night in the tavern, Arya changed her. Had Arya not noticed she was different too? “I love you, and that’s not who you are anymore. You need to know that. I need you to know that.” 

“I love you too,” she said softly. It was sincere but didn’t address Daenerys’s larger point. 

“You need to be careful. Illyrio’s dangerous. If his other guard realizes you’re not the real Raqim…”

“I’m dangerous,” Arya replied. It was unbelievable just how attractive she found her confidence. “My father once told me, ‘we must be loyal to our friends and dangerous to our enemies,’” she recalled. Dany was reluctant to bring up Ned Stark, afraid it would upset the woman she loved. Arya’s expression hardened a bit before she continued. “He was wrong, there are no friends and enemies, there are only wolves and sheep. I know which one I am and before the day is done Illyrio will know it too.” 

There was lots to do, for both of them but Daenerys couldn’t resist teasing her lover while she still had the chance. “In this world of wolves and sheep, what happens to the dragons?”

“I think the Dragon will be alright,” she foretold. 

R-C

She stayed close to Illyrio. She postponed a meeting with Tyrion and sent Jorah on a meaningless errand just so she could focus on the Magister. She used the pretense of ensuring the treasury was functioning well under his leadership as a justification for her attention. He played his part well, answering her questions without even the slightest hint he was betraying her. 

Arya wasn’t there. It took all of her self-control to avoid inquiring about Raqim’s whereabouts. She’d never asked Illyrio about his men before and if she was going to keep from alerting him to her intentions, she couldn’t start. She needed to trust in Arya. She would strike at the right moment. It was almost humorous how seemingly everything she did with Arya managed to require Dany to be patient. Whether she was waiting for Arya to arrive or trying to refrain from begging her in their bed, there was a certain pattern to it. 

They’d eaten at midday without Arya making an appearance. She tried not to worry. She hadn’t seen Henson either and Illyrio gave no indication that he knew his man wasn’t genuine. 

“Is everything alright, your Grace?” Tyrion asked carefully as she ate her meal. He looked to Illyrio and then back to her. The Magister was speaking to Missandei. “You don’t seem like yourself today. Are things well with Arya?”

She smiled at the mere mention of her lover. “Everything is fine.” 

Daenerys was in Illyrio’s office in the middle of the afternoon when Henson and Raqim knocked. She kept her eyes on Illyrio, studying his face for proof he saw through Arya’s mask.

Nothing revealed their secret. Even knowing who was inside the armor, Daenerys struggled to accept it. Raqim looked as he had the day before. It went beyond the face or the armor, Arya had perfected his stoic expression and deep stare. Henson didn’t realize the change either. Presumably he’d spent more time with the new Raqim than anyone and remained oblivious. However they’d spent the morning, Arya played her role well enough to convince everyone she encountered. 

From behind his desk Illyrio waved them in. “How did everything go?” he asked. 

“As expected,” Arya answered in a deeper voice than Daenerys was used to. She didn’t know what business they’d been doing. The sell-swords were always together. Daenerys knew admittedly little about what they did when they weren’t actively guarding the Magister, but she suspected they were out roaming the capitol, doing their Master’s bidding. 

“Good.” 

Arya made her move. “I apologize for the interruption m’lord but there is a matter that requires your attention.”

“Can it wait?” 

“I’m afraid not, word from Pentos arrived, your opinion is required.” 

Daenerys knew the truth. She knew Arya hadn’t received a letter from Pentos. It was a ruse. The Magisters there didn’t care about Illyrio’s opinion anymore, yet she almost believed as she listened to Arya lie so smoothly. 

The Magister gave his Queen an apologetic glance. “Forgive me your Grace,” he said, revealing none of his surprise. He was nearly as good a liar as Arya. 

“No need,” she dismissed. “You have business to attend to, and I need to find Tyrion, I’m sure I’m late for one meeting or another.” 

Illyrio smiled at her attempted humor and Daenerys politely excused herself from the room. As she passed Raqim she looked for any hint of the lover she knew was underneath the face, but Arya gave her nothing. 

In the hall she lingered against the wall, listening to see if the Magister took the bait. She didn’t need to wait long. “What are you talking about?” he asked Raqim harshly. “No one from Pentos knows I’m here.”

Arya was calm, as Raqim would be. “I didn’t think the Queen needed to know the truth,” she said, keeping her voice low. 

“What truth?” 

“It’s about Stanley m’lord.”

“He’s dead!” Illyrio replied. “You told me you killed him.”

That was all Daenerys needed to hear, it confirmed what Raqim said in his confession the night before. Daenerys hurried on down the hall. She wasn’t going to see Tyrion, at least not for a meeting. She needed to gather up her witnesses and get them into place for the show.

R-C

Arya revelled in the flicker of fear she saw on Illyrio’s face when she told him that Stanley might unravel his plot from beyond the grave. 

Henson stayed back, letting the senior guard take the lead. It was why she’d chosen to interrogate Raqim and not him. 

“What happened?” Illyrio pressed in a hushed whisper.

“Not here,” his guard resisted, “people might hear.”

“The Queen is in the Hand’s Tower,” Henson commented. 

“We should be careful, she isn’t the only one we need to worry about.” 

Illyrio stood. “Where?”

“The courtyard,” she suggested, knowing Dany would be there waiting with her advisors. “It’s usually empty this time of day.” 

Illyrio was visibly unhappy with the demand for security but didn’t refuse. 

Outside the sun was warm on her skin. She didn’t need to look toward the shadows to know Dany was there. It was time to get on with this. Her hand subtly shifted toward her sword, Raqim’s sword. Illyrio was unarmed and would be easily dealt with, but there was no way of knowing whether Henson would die for his Master or not. Either way she’d be ready. 

“What happened?” Illyrio asked, taking a look around before facing her completely. 

“A note was waiting for me when I returned from our business this morning,” she lied. “It is from Stanley’s widow.”

The Magister scoffed in disbelief. “His wife? I didn’t know he had one.” 

“Nor I, but it seems the Northern idiot told her everything. She’s demanding a sum of gold to remain quiet.” 

She let the information sink in, needing him to understand the implications. If Stanley had a wife, and if she could reveal all their secrets, she had the potential to ruin everything Illyrio was trying to do. 

Not surprisingly, outrage was his first emotion. “She what!?” he shouted. Arya kept her face even as she glanced at the younger guard. With a nod she encouraged him to produce the document. Arya had been up half the night forging the letter and making it convincing. She was quite pleased with the result. It was unusually she went to such elaborate extremes to kill someone, but it was necessary. It wasn’t enough to kill Illyrio. Seven Hells, Arya could have done that before he got out of bed. No, she needed to prove he was guilty too. 

She waited as Illyrio read the letter. It was very detailed, proving the author knew what she was talking about. The sum she was asking for was high but not beyond the Magister’s capabilities. He could pay it, but Arya doubted he would. She gave him the opportunity anyway. “I could deliver a payment if you’d like.”

He thought about it before responding. “No,” he decided, “if I pay her once, she’ll keep coming back, asking for more.” 

Arya nodded. “I’ll kill her then.” 

“Leave tonight,” Illyrio instructed. “Do it quickly and quietly. When she’s dead, search her things to make sure there is no evidence left behind.” 

This was it. Her moment had come. “Do you think she’d tell someone we were behind the Stark kidnappings?” she asked. Her voice was clear and loud enough to reach the hiding spot she’d selected for Dany and the others. They’d hear without difficulty. 

“Don’t give her the chance,” he ordered. “The truth dies with her.” 

“I’ll leave at once,” she said with one eye on the shadow. She took a step toward Henson, her hand resting on the grip of her sword. 

Dany came out with Jorah and Grey Worm flanking her. On the right there was Varys and Tyrion, on the left Missandei. No one looked pleased. Even Varys, Illyrio’s closest friend in the capitol appeared offended by what he’d heard. Arya recognized the expression on her lover’s face, she was furious, and she looked gorgeous. 

R-C

“What are we doing here?” Tyrion asked. 

She’d gathered her advisors but told them little about what was going on. She could feel the curiosity pouring off of them as they huddled together. Dany was wary, afraid one of them would unwittingly expose the rest before it was time. They were hiding behind a column, taking advantage of the lack of light that reached that side of the yard. “Stay down and quiet,” she said in a low voice.

Once Illyrio and his men arrived it was Jorah who broke the silence with a whisper. “What’s going on?”

“Quiet!” she hissed. She’d come too far and worked too hard to let anyone stop her now. 

Daenerys wanted to rush out when Illyrio admitted to knowing Stanley. That desire only grew when he read the note and considered his next move. He had fewer than he realized. She knew what she’d hear, Arya prepared her for it, but it didn’t lessen her fury. 

Tyrion caught her eye as Illyrio plotted a woman’s death. She noted he looked disappointed but not surprised. Like her, Tyrion knew better than to trust him. Behind the dwarf, Varys was saddened. She felt for him, the Magister was his friend once, but that didn’t change what needed to happen. 

She took advantage while he was busy planning a murder. He was startled by her sudden arrival and that multiplied when he saw she brought everyone with her. “Oh, your Grace, I didn’t see you there,” he hurried to say. “I thought you were in the Hand’s Tower.” 

“Of course, you did,” she spat angrily. “You wouldn’t have conspired openly to murder a woman if you thought I was close enough to overhear.” 

She enjoyed watching him squirm more than was healthy. “Oh that, that was just some business left over from my time in Pentos, you know how these things can be.” 

“Are you certain it isn’t regarding your time in the North?” 

The sound of scraping steel pulled her focus off the Magister and onto Arya. She was wearing her own face again and had the tip of her sword to Henson’s throat. “Don’t do it,” Arya warned as he contemplated drawing his own weapon. The fight would be short, if it happened at all. Arya had the upper hand and her opponent knew it. 

Illyrio wasn’t the only one surprised when Arya showed her true face. In other circumstances, she might have appreciated the looks of wonder as they realized what she’d done. Unfortunately, now was not that time. 

“What… Wh…Where is Raqim?” Illyrio muttered trying to make sense of how suddenly everything had changed for him. That morning he was Master of the Coin working his way to becoming Hand of the Queen, and now he’d been caught not only by Daenerys but her advisors too. If she’d been alone, he would have tried to explain away what she heard. He didn’t have a hope of doing that now, not with so many to sway. 

“He’s dead,” Daenerys replied proudly, taking joy from the knowledge they’d bested him. She wasn’t the only one either, behind the sword she was holding Arya was smirking too. “He told us all about your plan to seize control of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Illyrio wasn’t willing to admit defeat. “I don’t know what he told you but…”

“Save it,” Arya retorted. “You fled Pentos in disgrace. They want you dead, so you came running to Dany, knowing she had the power to keep you alive, even if the Magisters learned where you were.” 

“That’s madness!” he shouted, his fat face red as he shook. Daenerys couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear he was overwhelmed by. “Your Grace, you can’t believe this nonsense. I came to help you…”

“You came to help yourself,” Daenerys corrected. “You hired Stanley and his sell-swords to kidnap Stark troops so you could save the day. I played right into your hands when I decided to go to Winterfell personally.” 

“Is this true?” Varys asked. Daenerys didn’t know what upset the Spider more, that Illyrio’s motives were selfish, or that he hadn’t figured it out before Daenerys? 

“No!” he insisted. “Varys you know me. We’ve been friends for a long time. I would never…”

“I heard all the rumors, I even asked you about them,” Varys said to the Magister, “you told me it was just politics, meaningless fighting to see who would replace you as Magister.” His thick finger stuck out from the sleeve of his cloak, and he was pointing at his friend. “You said it helped certain candidates if they spread word that you fled, that you agreed to go along with it as a favor to them.” 

“That’s not exactly how it happened is it?” Dany asked. 

“I’m so sorry your Grace,” Varys said, hanging his head. “I should have seen it, I should have known. I trusted him.” The remainder of his message was for Illyrio and he said it directly to him. “You used me, used our friendship. I trusted you, and you knew that, knew I’d believe when you told me the crimes you were accused of were baseless lies from those jealous of your success.” 

She paid careful attention to Varys. She needed to know if she could trust him. He seemed sincere in his surprise and his outrage, but it could be an act. A decision would need to be made, but not today. The Spider wasn’t their most immediate problem, Illyrio was. 

He looked like he was debating making a run for it. Before he could, Grey Worm blocked his path. He’d had his sword out since Arya drew hers, ready for a fight. 

“I didn’t…”

She had no interest in hearing whatever excuse he was going to spout. To Henson she said, “You have a choice to make. You can leave and never return, or you can join your Master in his fate.” 

She thought it would be an easy decision. She’d offered the man a chance to save his life, all he had to do was take it. He was undecided, until Arya spoke. “Don’t die for him.” 

“I’ll go,” Henson agreed quietly as Illyrio called his name. He avoided the Magister’s eye as Jorah relieved him of his weapons and escorted him out. 

It was tense after Henson was gone. Illyrio seemed to realize none of his denials would be sufficient. “What about me?” he asked her. “Your Grace, if I made a mistake, I will make it right.”

Daenerys couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. The coward wouldn’t admit he made a mistake, saying instead, ‘if I did.’ It was offensive. “You’ve been using me since I was a girl. Treating me like a prop.” He opened his mouth to refute her claim, but she wasn’t done. “You and Viserys and all your friends plotting, choosing my destiny for me.” She grew angrier with every word, thinking about all she endured because of Illyrio and men like him. “That ends today!” 

“I’ll go,” he proposed, “you’ll never see me again. Your Grace, remember all I’ve done for you. I may not be perfect, but would you be where you are, who you are without me?”

She did him the courtesy of thinking about his message. No, she wouldn’t be who she was without him. He’d conspired to put a Targaryen on the throne, and he did. It just wasn’t the one he expected. “Thank you, for the dragon eggs you gave me. They were pretty, expensive and utterly meaningless to you, beyond their small role in advancing your scheme. I imagine you thought the same about me. Was I ever more than a way to control Viserys, some whore you could sell to achieve your goal?”

Wisely Illyrio realized their shared past was too volatile to provide the help he needed. He focused on recent events instead. “It was me who refilled the treasury. You can keep the gold if you just…”

“I will keep the gold,” she said plainly, a false smile on her face for the Magister, “thank you.” 

“Let me go, your Grace. You don’t need to do this.” 

“Westeros isn’t Essos,” Daenerys remarked, stalking closer. Arya shifted her position to box Illyrio in. “People have been telling me that since long before I reached Dragonstone. You should have stayed in Pentos where your money and power kept you safe. Here you’re not above the law. Here you have no power, and you’ve given away all your money.”

“To you…” he gushed in a final attempt to avoid his fate. “I did it for you. Everything I did was for you.”

“The gold will better the lives of countless people. I’m sorry you won’t be around to see it.” 

One nod was all it took. Arya acted as soon as she’d been given permission and she speared the fat Magister through the chest in a single, fluid stroke. Illyrio didn’t muster up a dying plea before Arya withdrew the blade and let him fall. 

Daenerys was pleased no one tried to talk her out of killing him. Not even Varys spoke up in Illyrio’s defense. She was glad. It made it easier when everyone agreed with her. “What now?” Tyrion asked her as he eyed the body. 

“Tell the former Master of Coins he can have his old job back,” Daenerys directed. 

“Where’s the real Raqim?”

“Dead, stuffed in the closet of his quarters. I needed his face to make this work,” Arya explained. 

Tyrion put the pieces together. “You planned all this,” he accused without anger. “Both of you,” he said, “you knew what he’d say. That’s why you had us here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys said instinctively. “I was going to tell you, but I was afraid Illyrio would learn that I suspected him.” 

Her apology seemed unnecessary. He was speaking to Arya more than her now. “That was smart, and that trick with your face, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from seeing that.” 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Arya said, “few who see the change live.”

“I have always considered myself quite lucky actually,” Tyrion noted with a chuckle, “lucky and thirsty. I think I’ll go and find myself something to drink.” He gave Illyrio one final glance. “I’ll send a few of the Dothraki to get rid of the bodies.” He was almost inside when he stopped. “Since she’s going to be here anyway, you may want to think about letting her handle Ronan too. It’s about time we cleared the dungeon.” 

In short order, Daenerys was alone with her lover and the man they murdered. She felt no guilt for what she’d done. “Who is Ronan?”

The question made Daenerys think about an appropriate response. She couldn’t tell if Tyrion was serious or not. Either way, it wasn’t difficult to imagine Arya ridding the world of Ronan Neesom. “I’ll tell you later,” she said, postponing the inevitable conversation. She didn’t want to think about Ronan now, not him, Illyrio or anyone else who wasn’t Arya. 

She put the sword away without concern for the blood on the steel. Her empty hand was too tempting for Daenerys to pass up. She held it tightly. Tyrion wasn’t the only one who felt lucky. 

Grey eyes stared into her. She felt exposed under Arya’s gaze, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. She liked that Arya understood her in a way no one ever had. She could be herself, regardless of who that woman was. She could be a Khaleesi, a Queen, Daenerys or Dany and Arya would love her. She’d seen her at her worst, and she stayed. If that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by Arya’s voice. “You did it, Dany, it’s done.”

She knew what Arya meant, but found herself unwilling to agree. There, with Arya, Daenerys wasn’t ready for the moment to end. She didn’t want to be done just yet. 

She lifted up onto her toes for a kiss and Arya graciously accommodated her. Their lips met and Daenerys forgot the world. She released her hand only so she could wrap her arms around her lover’s neck. She kissed her passionately, until Arya pulled away for air. Dany grinned in triumph. It took a few seconds of looking into Arya’s beautiful eyes, but Dany eventually remembered her statement. “No,” she said, “it’s not even close to over.” 

R-C

The End

R-C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who read this story. For an idea that began as a one-shot, it ended up quite long and very different from what I originally envisioned. I hope no one is disappointed. 
> 
> Take Care
> 
> Russell Craig


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